A Riddle In Time
by Shady-777
Summary: Time travel. A change in history. A threat so powerful it forces Death Eaters and Aurors to band together to save their kind. Their only hope? The son of Voldemort must team up with the Golden Trio and embark on a dangerous mission...AU.  Not cliché.
1. The Fangs of Quetzalcoatl

**A/N:**Greetings fanficcers! ( Is that even a word? ) This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, and, as the summary indicates, it involves time-travel. For the most part it agrees with Rowling's canon up through the larger portion of Book 6, but after that it's pretty AU ( the canon characters still have the same appearances, personalities, histories, etc, they are just subjected to different challenges and different circumstances. ) It is also in the very, let me stress, —very— tiniest sense of the word, a crossover with "_Buffy the Vampire Slayer_" in that characters/events in that universe will be occasionally referenced, but will not actually appear in the story ( with the exception of Willow, who has only a very minor role and will be seen mostly in flashbacks ). So if you don't know anything about and/or don't care for that fandom, don't worry, because it probably won't pop up often enough to annoy you.

Don't let the prologue here scare you off; it's purposely written to be confusing. Things are not explained. You're going to be saying "Huh?" a lot. In fact, if you're not confused by the time you finish reading it, it will mean you are a psychic who was somehow able to access my mind, and with skills like those, what'rya reading this for? You could be off making serious money and helping the masses! ;)

The rest of the story will be written in an entirely different style—it's only the prologue ( split into 3 Parts to make for easier reading ) that's on drugs. Things WILL be explained. Eventually.

Lord Voldemort/Tom Riddle may seem out-of-character initially, but it's definitely intentional. You'll see why later on. (smiles)

NOTE TO SHIPPERS: This fic ships** Harry/Hermione**. I'm not really going to focus on it — I am not much of a shipper and prefer romance to take a back seat to the plots in my stories, but I figured I had better mention it just in case, as some people strongly prefer these two characters in particular to be in certain pairings.

Also, if you see any really _**STRANGE**_ pairings, don't rule out magical intervention, m'kay?

Final Note: Some of you may recognize this story. I took the original version down and am revamping and reposting it before I pick up where I left off with updates. Most of the changes are minor and have been added for continuity reasons. Also, I have pics of some of the characters, which I plan on linking to my author's bio as soon as I get the chance.

**Disclaimer: **I own only my OCs, and the plot which I have invented. If you've seen it before, it isn't mine.

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><p><strong>Prologue: Part I<strong>

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><p>They were everywhere. Standing atop fallen monuments, making quick strikes from behind ceremonial altars and crumbling pillars, doing battle upon open floor with the Deathbusters. Their silvery robes and alabaster skull-masks glinted in the dim firelight of the centuries-old torches. Wands whipped and jerked about with lethal rapid precision as their owners fired curses through the air and attempted to block hexes aimed at them.<p>

Never still.

Never silent.

The ancient snake god's temple was the scene of a battle between the forces of evil.

Or, more specifically, between the forces of Lord Voldemort and Draco Malfoy.

There was a certain twisted irony, Cain knew, in the two groups doing battle. Both stood for the torture, murder, and exploitation of muggles. Both favored pureblood dominance. Both actively attempted to crush the Ministry and install in its place their own, harsher rule over the wizarding community. Really, in all truth, the Deathbusters were no more than a cheap knockoff of the Death Eaters. Their cloaks were a lighter shade of silver and their black masks more closely resembled a deformed jackal's head than the dragon they were supposed to, but on the whole the fashion was very similar. The Deathbusters even had their own all-binding tattoo — theirs came in form of a proud dragon exhaling fire and was located on the right wrist.

Very original.

Draco was not as powerful as Lord Voldemort — not by a considerable sight — but he was still a force to be reckoned with and no sane Death Eater wanted to be within ten kilometers of him. Under normal conditions his presence alone was enough to clear a field.

But these were not normal conditions, and Cain found himself in a state of increasing anxiety. It was not for his own safety that he feared, but for that of his "uncle" Rodolphus Lestrange. Rodolphus and the others would be able to hold their own against the Deathbusters, but if Draco decided come out from wherever he happened to be at the moment and help his lackies…well, that would be a different story. Then the Death Eaters would be in some serious trouble if Voldemort didn't show up, and given his current preoccupation with getting the fangs of Quetzalcoatl, Cain couldn't count on that happening.

_I shouldn't even have to be worrying about this_, the fourteen-year-old thought with a degree of chagrin as he ran across the temple floor, weaving his way between pillars, clutter, and the occasional curse or motionless body, _Rodolphus used to be Draco's uncle, and its not like he personally has ever done anything to him. He doesn't mess with the Malfoy family, and he hasn't killed any of Draco's favorites. At least, I don't _think_ he has._

Wham!

A pillar fell, nearly catching Cain under it. No sooner had he cleared the structure than a burst of purple magic whizzed by his face, missing his nose by centimeters.

"You idiot! You almost hit the Dark Lord's son!" he heard a Death Eater somewhere off to his right hiss.

This was followed almost instantly by an utterly horrified "Oh! Sorry Cain!"

But Cain was too busy to be bothered, and anyway, when they were wearing masks like this he couldn't tell one Death Eater from another any better than Draco could.

Which was why finding Rodolphus was proving to be such a challenge. There were simply too many masked witches and wizards running around, too many passageways and rooms, and too many places to hide. There was no sign of Draco yet, but as he was the world's fastest apparater that could change in an instant.

After making sure there were no more potential weapons hanging over his head, Cain paused for a beat near a major threshold that opened into one of the dilapidated temple's many corridors. This afforded him a slightly better view of the main chamber than anywhere else, but only slightly. He was dismayed — but not surprised — to see that the place was just as much a madhouse as it had been five minutes ago when he'd first entered to check it out.

A noisy cacophony of uttered spells, exploding stone, and insults filled the air. Flashes of nearly every color raced between the walls, sometimes hitting a target, sometimes hitting each other. People butted and shoved each other aside to their convenience.

Then a flash of reddish hair in the corner of the room grabbed Cain's attention. Focusing his magically-enhanced eyes in on the person, he was able to identify him the second he had a clear enough view between all the swishing robes and brightly-colored spells.

_Ronald Weasley? What's _he _doing here?_

The older man was engaged in a battle with a pair of Death Eaters who, from the looks of it, had just barely finished schooling. Their attacks were uncoordinated and lacked any form of subtlety. Ron, being a seasoned fighter, was pulverizing them.

_He'd never be stupid enough to attack alone, which means…bloody Hell, the Aurors are here!_

Less than ten seconds later and Cain's hunch was confirmed when a flood of Aurors poured in through the chamber's second major opening, led by Harry and Drake.

One of the Aurors — a horribly scarred man with graying hair who looked to be in his forties — was immediately singled out and cornered by a trio of zealous Death Eaters. They were so focused on him that they didn't notice the fancy-clad Drake Malfoy until he blasted them with a silent red spell that knocked them sprawling into a band of Deathbusters who, coincidentally enough, were right in the middle of their own feud. Both sides went down in a tangle of limbs and wands. One angry Deathbuster shouted a non-magical type of curse when an ornamental onyx snake head fell from a statue and crushed his arm.

There could be no more delays. Cain had to find Rodolphus _now_ before the legendary Potter did. Giving his wand a quick flick, he was just about to risk trying a locator spell when a Death Eater at the opposite end of the room briefly removed his mask, revealing his identity.

Cain recognized the long, bright red hair and different-colored eyes instantly. (( Rodolphus! )) he shouted, using telepathy to aim the message specifically at his friend and guarantee he, and only he, would hear, (( The Aurors are here! Stay sharp, I'm coming to give you cover! ))

He knew his uncle figure wouldn't be able to reply, and he didn't wait for an answer. Conjuring the best Protego shield he could muster at the tip of his wand, he darted towards the Death Eater in question, his eyes glowing a fierce red.

Both Deathbusters and Death Eaters immediately ceased their fire and drew away from him, just as he knew they would, giving him a mostly-clear path to his target. Now at a full run, he covered the distance between him and Rodolphus in a matter of seconds, and hit the Deathbuster who'd been fighting his friend with a knockback jinx strong enough to send him flying sideways into a group of his comrades and Aurors several feet away. Some nearby Death Eaters and Deathbusters turned and directed their energies elsewhere, no longer interested in either helping or harming Rodolphus.

"Little Bit!" Rodolphus exclaimed now that he was well within earshot, "I sure am glad to see you! Where's your father?" His words were tired and hurried, and though the gleaming white skull mask he wore concealed his expression, it was easy to picture him with an anxious frown.

"I don't know," Cain admitted, feeling a little sick as he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be here, "I haven't seen him. He's probably in one of the underground chambers looking for those fangs."

Rodolphus let out an audible sigh. Then he leveled his wand at an unsuspecting Auror. "Avada Kedavra!"

It was the Auror's lucky day. He'd had no clue that a killing curse was even coming at him from that direction, being as engrossed as he was in a fight with two other Death Eaters, but he happened to lunge over to one side at exactly the right time and the curse hit an altar instead.

Cain shot his friend an incredulous look. "What are you doing?" he hissed, "You have to get out of here! Harry will kill you!"

"So will your father if I leave before he gives the order. We have instructions to stay no matter what — even if Harry and Draco _both_ arrive."

"That's insane." Cain jerked his head towards the entryway the Aurors had come through and noticed that some, including Harry and Drake, were getting a little too close for comfort. Rodolphus was a vicious and highly experienced fighter, but he had a snowball's chance in an inferno against those two, especially Harry.

Rodolphus may have been a little on the insane side thanks to his stays in Azkaban, but he wasn't stupid. He, too, knew he was outdone. "Maybe. But I don't have a choice." he said sadly.

"Then I order you to leave." Cain tried, sounding very authoritative despite his young age.

Rodolphus merely shook his head. "Aw, Little Bit. You're not a Death Eater yet. And even if you were, you could never counter an order from your father."

"Maybe not," Cain conceded, once again sparing a lightning-quick glance around the room to make sure they were still semi-safe, "but you know I'd pull for you. Mum would too. She's very fond of you."

"Yes, but somehow I don't think —"

"_Quirito astrum conscindo!_"

The fast-spoken words, driven by an all-too-familiar voice, prompted Cain to whirl in a flash, readying his wand instinctively.

Almost right in a front of him, a Death Eater dropped to his knees and began to scream wildly as a black mist flecked with flickering white star-like pinpoints of light engulfed his body. His screams turned to demonic shrieks when the mist suddenly began to whip rapidly around him: a cruel, miniature tornado that completely obscured him from view. The shimmering white stars seemed to throb in and out of the center of the magical storm, burning through fabric to leave star-shaped scars where they touched flesh.

_Star Scream! _Cain knew there was only one warlock who did that, and when his eyes ticked to the far left he found the perpetrator standing with his back against a wall, a smug look on his face.

"Draco!" Harry yelled, beating everyone else to the draw. The famous Auror uttered a spell that wasn't audible above the fray. Moments later a faint blue dome of magic appeared over his head and exploded outward, knocking every person within five meters of him on his or her backside. Now that he had a clear line of fire, he snapped his wand at Draco, frowning sternly but with no real hatred behind his glare.

Draco didn't look as if he were at all intimidated. "Potter. Why am I not surprised to see you here? And with my muggle-loving turncoat son, too." Rather than being snippy or sarcastic the way it usually was, his tone was conversational — almost friendly.

On the ground, the victim of Star Scream stopped moving and fell silent. The deathly mist vanished.

"Back off Draco — " Harry started wearily, as though this were an all-too-common exchange.

"Or you'll do, what, exactly?" Draco disappeared and reappeared several feet away, closer to Harry's side, so fast that the air he displaced didn't even have time to finish filling the void before he was talking again. "Throw me in Azkaban?" He laughed, as if it were the punch-line to the world's funniest joke.

Harry readjusted instantly, whipping his wand to Draco's new location and keeping it pointed steadily at his chest. "As much as I'd love to give you a good beating in front of your Deathbusters, we've both got bigger prob — " he stopped short, launching his left hand up to summon a bluish barrier to stop the flying red spell that was on a collision course with his face.

In spite of his bias towards Potters, Cain was impressed. It was amazing the way Harry could multitask like that. Even when his attention appeared to be purely focused on something else, he still managed to keep an eye out for danger.

Harry probably would have finished his conversation with Draco, but Draco was no longer within his range, having vanished in the split-second it took him to defend himself.

Draco was now roughly in the middle of the room, throwing fireballs. Harry and Drake struggled to get a clear shot at him through all the moving bodies.

The tide of battle was changing; the Death Eaters had done an admirable…make that remarkable…job of keeping their nerve when Harry, Drake, and the other Aurors had arrived, but Draco was too much. They began to panic. Most turned tail and took flight down the nearest available passage at the first opportunity. A few surrendered to Aurors right on the spot. Still others risked disapparating out of the temple, their fear of their master's punishments temporarily eclipsed by their fear of Draco's Star Scream.

Draco let loose with a fiendish laugh, his grey-blue eyes sparkling with glee. "That's right. Run like the dogs you are!" He made a loose fist with the hand that wasn't currently employed in the business of holding his wand and shook it the way an expert dice-thrower would shake dice. Only, when he opened his hand, it wasn't dice but a river of blue-violet lightning that shot out, catching a pair of fleeing Death Eaters and knocking them flat on their faces against the hard floor. Despite their trembling bodies and obvious pain, the two tried to get up — only to be struck back down by a barrage of magic bolts thrown by some Deathbusters closing in like a flock of vultures.

Cain felt a hand on his shoulder and was at once aware of Rodolphus, now the last free living Death Eater in the room.

(( Disapparate. )) he demanded without looking back, (( Now. No-one will blame you for running from this. )) He didn't take his eyes off the scene unfolding before him, but seconds later he heard a swift rush of air and knew his friend had escaped.

_Great. Now _I_ have to escape before Father finds out I'm here. Damn. I should've had Rodolphus take me with him. _

The truth was, while Cain was beyond his year-level and already possessed extremely powerful magic, he could not yet apparate: an annoying fact which popped up from time to time to make like difficult. He'd gotten to the temple by broom, using a cloaking charm to escape muggle detection. But he'd had to leave that outside, and the odds were ten to one someone had taken it by now. Not as a means of escape, of course — disapparating was for more effective for that — but because it was a brand new _Firebolt 2050 Limited Edition_, and _everyone_ wanted one of those.

Cain groaned inwardly. He was going to have to get a new broom.

With the Death Eaters out of the way, the Deathbusters attacked the Aurors more fiercely than ever. No doubt they felt a surge of confidence with the arrival of their leader. Mayhem resumed. From somewhere in the fray Draco piped up with "Hey! Why don't we just give 'em to Snape! Then we can have some _real_ fun!"

There was no reason for Cain to get any further involved in any of it. Let Harry and Draco work out their differences the way they always did — he needed to get back to Hogwarts before anyone discovered he was missing. And, thanks to his degree of fame ( or was that infame? ) that was going to be difficult.

He was just about to double back and make a beeline for the passage he knew led to the outside world when the image of Ron, standing board-rigid several meters away, caught his eye. From the looks of it he was the victim of Petrificus Totalus, or something akin to it. A stream of blood flowed down his left cheek like a massive red tear. Only one Auror was close enough to help him, and she was getting her butt handed to her by a trio of Deathbusters.

So far Ron was lucky — his enemies hadn't noticed his condition. But that wouldn't last long in this madhouse.

For one confusing second, Cain couldn't make up his mind whether or not to help the stricken Weasley. Just because he was able to put on an particularly convincing charade of being 'good' for the outside world to see didn't mean that he actually held those values, or even aspired to them. He was merely pretending, the way his father had so many, many years ago, so that he could get the education he wanted and then do as he pleased with it. He thoroughly intended to become a Death Eater once he was finished with school. And just what kind of Death Eater went around saving ministry officials, the best friend of the loathsome _Harry Potter_, no less?

It would be better to let Ron fend for himself…

One of the Deathbusters noticed Ron's predicament.

Harry and Drake were too busy fighting Draco to notice. They were shouting things at each other — barbed insults, probably — but Cain barely heard their voices and their words didn't register.

He really shouldn't intervene…if all went to plan Ron was destined to become his enemy someday anyway…

_No. _his conscience argued, _To Hell with that. Ron's always treated me right. I have to help him! Besides, like Uncle Rodolphus said, I'm not a Death Eater _yet_._

His decision made, Cain sprang into action. Swiftly re-summoning the Protego shield that only partially covered him, he launched himself towards Ron with neither charm nor grace, rudely shoving and butting any Deathbuster that couldn't get out of his way fast enough.

It was crude, but it worked. The Aurors had no reason to hinder him, and the Deathbusters had two very big reasons not to retaliate regardless of how they felt about being treated in such a manner. Just as before, the Protego shield was a precaution, a safeguard against stray spells.

The Deathbuster pointed his wand at Ron. "Avada Ke —"

"Stupefy!" Cain hadn't quite reached them yet, but the dark witches and wizards who had been in the way had made way, giving him a clean shot. A sizzling cinnabar jet leapt from the tip of his wand and struck Ron's would-be murderer in the side. The man dropped like a ton of bricks, out like a light.

Having taken out the trash, Cain turned his wand on Ron. "Finite Incantatem." Ron stumbled backwards a bit as the effect of the spell on him was lifted. "Tergeo." The blood on his face vanished.

Ron awarded Cain a small, crooked grin. "Thanks."

Cain drew near to him, trying all the time to quell the worm of guilt he felt gnawing away at his insides over having to debate, even for a moment, whether to help. "Yeah, well…don't mention it." he stuttered, feeling as about as heroic as the infamous Peter Pettigrew who made an appearance, almost always in a negative light, in some of the Death Eaters' tales. He scanned the room nervously before adding, "We'd better get out of here before my father shows up, or we'll _both_ be in trouble. He hates it when I barge into Death Eater business without his permission."

"Go on then," Ron readied his wand and prepared to re-enter battle, taking advantage of the fact that none of his enemies wanted to risk throwing a spell Cain's direction, "and good luck. I'd love to leave this utter insanity if I could, but if your father gets those fangs we've all had it." He started after a band of Deathbusters heading down a narrow sandy corridor off to the left.

Cain caught him by the arm. "What do you mean?" he asked, startled. He'd had no idea the fangs were that important.

Ron halted in his stride and turned around, careful to keep the teenager in front of, rather than behind, him. His mouth hung open in a tiny 'o' of surprise. "You mean you don't know?"

Cain shook his head.

"The fangs of Ket…Quech…" frustration set in, "…whatever-his-name-is, are mystical objects imbued with the power of a god. They can be used like a Time-Turner, only you can go thousands of years into the past and stay as long as you want. Voldemort's going to go back to ancient Egypt and steal the _Book of Curse _before Anubis and Isis destroy it."

"The _Book of Curse_?" Cain repeated, frowning a little, "I've never heard of it before."

"That's because it was a collection of all the nastiest, most wicked spells, curses, and hexes created by the dark gods, and for the most part only gods knew about it. These curses could afflict thousands of people at once: disease, famine, plague. Instructions on how to make and control monster storms and beasts like the chimera and hydra. According to some sources, it even held the secret to destroying mankind — a single curse capable of killing everyone on the planet. That's why it was destroyed; even the gods were afraid of the damage it could do. Bottom line is, we found out about it, your father found out about it — Draco too — and now everyone's after the fangs either to go back in time and get it or stop others from doing that." It was practically a speech for Ron, and Cain imagined he was feeling rather winded, but if he was he ignored it. The last word had barely left his lips before he was speaking again, this time in a slower, mentally-kicking-himself tone, "And…I shouldn't have told you that much. Bloody Hell. I'm getting like Hagrid in my old age."

"Don't worry, Ron." Cain assured him, "I'm not going to use that information in some twisted, evil way. I just want to get back to Hogwarts before the whole school knows I'm gone and I get suspended from Quidditch." He winced. "Again." Then, switching to telepathy, he added, (( And just between us, I hope you guys stop 'em. My family are deadly enough as it is…they don't need a _Book of Curse_. ))

A small smile made its way to Ron's lips. Nevertheless, a tired, weary look lingered in his eyes. His body was that of a twenty-something-year-old man, but his eyes betrayed him. They always seemed duller somehow. Wiser. He was actually somewhere around seventy, and though he didn't look it there were times, like now, when he seemed to _feel_ it.

"Well Merlin's beard," he declared in a voice that was part marvel part chuckle, "I never thought I'd hear a Slytherin with both Malfoy and Riddle blood say something like _that_. Heh. World keeps getting stranger every day." His smile broadened. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but good luck in your next game. I hope Slytherin wins. And…don't quote me on that one, kay? Harry and Hermione might start thinking I'm under Imperious."

"Your secret's safe with me." Cain promised, inwardly laughing at the mental image of Ron, decked out in full Slytherin garb, attending the next Hogwarts Quidditch match and holding up a pro-Slytherin sign while the Potters looked on in shock.

Ron nodded in appreciation before taking off down the passage he'd been headed for.

Cain wondered if he'd ever see him again.

Was it wrong to hope so?

Sure, they weren't buddies or anything, and Ron was on the wrong side, but there was something about the old ministry official that he liked. He hated to admit that he was a little worried about him rushing off into enemy territory without Harry or Drake immediately available to back him up in case things got ugly. Ron wasn't an Auror, and although he could fight rather well when the need arose, it wasn't his forté.

_I hope he doesn't run into Father. _he thought as he made for the temple's exit, somehow managing to ignore the chaos exploding around him.

(( Cain! Watch out! )) Harry's warning came too late.

Cain felt a hand on his shoulder. Then he simply wasn't there.

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

****X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X****

_**12 Minutes Earlier**_

"LOH-KEE!" Lord Voldemort's voice shook the air.

Several of his followers retreated a few paces, hugging the walls with their backs. The dry, sandy chamber they were in could hardly be called large, and they didn't want to be either too handy or too noticeable should their master's volatile nature inspire him to look for an easy scapegoat in the event things didn't go to plan, which they often didn't.

Only one Death Eater remained unshaken. She kept close to Voldemort's side, so close they were almost touching. Her skeptical eyes were fixed not on him, but on the two ivory-white snake fangs he held, each wickedly curved and nearly as long as his arm. She appeared troubled by them.

Voldemort knew the god could hear him. Somehow, through ways he still didn't fully understand, even minor gods seemed to be able to tell when they were being summoned, even when the technique was as simple as calling their names.

So he wasn't at all surprised when, moments later, a swirling vortex of a thousand tiny lightning bolts materialized out of thin air a short distance in front of him, vanishing almost as quickly as it had come to reveal Loki, Norse God of Mischief.

Voldemort stared for a moment, mildly surprised. This was the first time he'd seen Loki in a human form, and his appearance was not at all what he'd expected. Instead of being a thick-chested, short, and huskily-built Viking, the god standing before him was slender, of average height, and well-proportioned. Wild white-blonde hair framed an amazingly smooth, pointed face highlighted by intelligent Caribbean-blue eyes. In a way he reminded Voldemort of his late minion Lucius Malfoy, only younger, livelier, and with shorter and messier hair. A black leather trenchcoat complete with a number of silver buckles and decorative designs set him apart from everyone else in the room.

"I asked you to _distract _Odin," Loki said, picking an annoyed tone, "You nearly destroyed Asgard!"

"That distracted him." Voldemort responded coolly, looking the god right in the eye and smiling in a condescending way, "I have held up my end of the bargain. Time for you to honor yours." He held the giant fangs, one in each hand, out in front of him. "Tell me how to use these."

A strange expression overcame Loki's face just then; he looked both startled and confused at the same time. Maybe even a little scared. But it faded quickly. "Very well," he said, seemingly unconcerned, "Though it's a waste of time if you ask me. No one's seen this god for centuries. These fangs'll send you maybe a week back in time — if they work at all."

He was playing at something, Voldemort could tell.

But what?

Legilmency didn't work on gods, both because their magic automatically defended them against mental attacks and they were natural-born occlumens. For Voldemort, the occlumency part wasn't such a big deal; years of practice, combined with more power than any wizard or witch had ever had in written history, enabled him to crack the minds of even the most stubborn occlumens with little difficulty. But the magical shielding was another matter.

Gods were biologically superior to wizards, and their magic worked differently. Not only did they have no use for wands and little for incantations, their magic seemed more "aware" of them, and, to some degree, it acted behind the scenes to protect them even without being commanded to do so.

This phenomenon had been given a name, phalanxtutelance, and a definition of _' The tendency of magic to act in ways which protect its host.'_ by the Ministry of Magic upon its discovery back in the misleadingly-named 'War With the Gods' several years ago. Individuals who possessed this quality were said to be phalanxtutelant, or simply phalantic, and so far only gods, phoenixes, and a small handful of other magical creatures fit the bill. Gods recovered from magical attacks even when they were unconscious, albeit at a much slower rate than if they consciously directed their powers towards healing. Their phalanxtutelance also extended to the mental realm, providing them partial and, in some cases, complete protection against magic that affected the mind.

Despite his best efforts to invent a curse to counteract phalanxtutelance, Voldemort was thus far unsuccessful, and Loki's mind remained hidden from him, a fact which annoyed him greatly since this was a notorious trickster. On the surface it appeared that Loki didn't want him to go through with his mission, but what if that was merely what Loki _wanted _him to think? What if Loki knew something he didn't?

It was a battle of wits, and Voldemort was determined to come out on top. He would have either that book or a new unkillable 'pet' on which to test his latest spells and curses. "I'm willing to try it." he said flatly, "Now tell me. And no tricks."

(( Tom, I don't like this. )) the Death Eater that was almost touching Voldemort told him privately, (( He's the God of Mischief. He's practically _guaranteed_ to try to trick you. ))

"I'll do better than tell you. I'll _show _you." Loki curved his pale fingers back slightly but quickly, and the fangs vanished from Voldemort's hands and reappeared in his.

Voldemort tensed. (( Don't worry Wicca, )) he assured his female companion, who was in fact his wife, (( if he tries anything I'll chain him to the basement wall and we'll have a new toy. Hell, I might do that _anyway_. ))

"We'll need some room." Loki announced, scanning the crowded chamber, "Let's see…"

(( Chains? Couldn't he just apparate out, or turn them into flowers or something? ))

(( Not if I enchant them. )) Voldemort took his eyes off Loki long enough to flash her a playfully sadistic toothless grin. Wicca smiled faintly in return, but he could tell her heart wasn't into it.

Figured.

While Voldemort knew beyond all doubt that his wife's love for him was genuine and real, her love for torture and murder was not. Although there were a few exceptions, Wicca generally didn't like to see people get hurt too badly; she frequently tried to persuade him to be lenient on captured enemies and, less often, Death Eaters who had made a mistake.

Unless he was in a good mood, Voldemort usually ignored her. She never held it against him for long, and the fun they had together more than made up for her flaws.

"…this will do." Loki pointed a fang at a corner full of Death Eaters. Before they had time to move or even twitch the dark witches and wizards were at once grabbed by an invisible force and flung aside like garbage in two directions.

"Hey!" one guy grunted in anger after his back collided painfully with a statue that had way too many points, "I think you broke my back!"

"So what if I did, _mage_?" Loki spat, "My allegiance is to your master, not you!"

"For your sake it had better be." Voldemort warned. He was watching Loki like a hawk now, eyes glowing a dangerous, primal red.

Loki didn't reply. Keeping his attention firmly on his task, he opened his hands and floated the Fangs of Quetzalcoatl into position about midway between the floor and the ceiling and a couple of meters diagonal from the crease of the corner. "Keep them about three yards apart, and make sure the curved ends point down and towards each other." he instructed, doing just that.

"Tell me, how is it that a _Norse_ god knows how to manipulate _Aztec _artifacts?" Wicca inquired, eyeing him in a light of distrust.

"Lady, as I was telling your master earlier, I go back a few eons. I've seen these things in use. We gods aren't all antisocial, you know. Quetzalcoatl and I were on friendly terms. Sometimes he'd use these to send himself or other gods — even mortals — into the past or future for whatever reason. It's very complex magic that requires a solid 'vessel' to act as a catalyst. And…like a battery, it needs recharged before each use." He looked to Voldemort expectantly, leaving the fangs hovering in midair.

"So, what are you waiting for?" Voldemort gestured towards the fangs. "Recharge them."

Loki was hesitant. "With all due respect, Lord Voldemort, your power is greater than mine. You could recharge it faster."

"How much faster?" Voldemort cocked an eyebrow at the blonde-haired trickster.

"At your level? Probably five minutes. It would take me close to twenty."

"Then it should take the two of us less than four." Voldemort observed, drawing his wand. "You start first and I'll follow your example. How will we know when it's done?"

"The portal will turn blue with white swirls." Loki straightened both hands and pointed them at one of the fangs, "I'll get this one. You get the other." As he was saying this, thick tendrils of blazing blue magic shot from his hands and streamed into the left fang. The fang started to light up with the absorbed energy.

Voldemort aimed his wand at the other fang and wordlessly directed his own flow of magic into it.

Both fangs began to glow: first a dull yellow, then orange, red, blue, and finally white-hot. Once they turned white-hot they began spinning in a counter-clockwise circle. Slow at first, and then faster and faster, until they lost their individual shapes and blurred together into one continuous band of the purest white light.

God and warlock kept their magic trained on the same spots.

A rich, green color emerged on the inside rim of the circle and flooded inward. A band of red followed close behind, swirling its way to the middle. Next was violet…

"My Lord! My Lord!" A Death Eater blew in through the doorless threshold, half a dozen buddies hot on his heels.

His concentration broken, Voldemort's stream of magical energy ceased. He whirled on the interrupters. "This had better be earth-shattering." he growled, scarlet eyes flashing with anger.

The lead Death Eater took a step back. "S-sorry My Lord, but Draco and the Deathbusters are here…so are Potter, Drake, the Aurors, and…" he swallowed nervously, trembling like a leaf in a summer breeze, "…your son."

"What in Slytherin's name is _Cain_ doing here?" It wasn't so much a question as a hiss.

Several feet away, Loki continued to feed the portal, his concentration legendary.

"Shall I get him?" Wicca offered, temporarily taking the heat off the harbinger of bad news.

Voldemort considered. "No," he answered after a moment, "he's in no real danger, and it'll be good for him to experience a fight." He turned his attention back to the Death Eaters filling the chamber's entrance. "And if you imbeciles don't get back out there and keep them busy, I'll make the Deathbusters and Aurors look like your dearest friends."

That was all the incentive most of the Death Eaters needed to hastily retrace their steps. Only two lingered.

"But…what about Potter and Malfoy?" one of these asked, "They'll annihilate us!"

"Get them to fight _each other_." Voldemort said icily, "They're _enemies_, that shouldn't be hard!"

The pair turned and bolted, apparently deciding that, if they were going to be taking chances, they'd be better of taking them in battle.

When Voldemort next laid eyes on the portal, it was a soothing, crystalline-blue flecked with wispy strands of white.

Loki cut off his supply of magic. "It is ready."

The Dark Lord nodded his approval. "Alright. Now how does it work?"

"You walk through it." Loki said simply, giving him a look that indicated he thought that a very stupid question.

Voldemort glared at him. It was hard to resist the urge to give this disrespectful upstart a taste of the Cruciatus curse right then and there. "Yes, but how do you determine the time and place? I don't want to end up in Portugal during the Doxy Plague."

"The portal operates on mental commands." Loki explained, "Simply focus on the date and place you'll appear approximately where you want to be at the correct time. It helps to be specific, but as long as you have a good idea you should be on target."

It looked pretty enough on the outside, but something was missing. Something important.

"How do I get back?" Voldemort inquired, watching the god very closely.

Loki smiled slyly. "Ah, you're a sharp one! I like that. Such a refreshing change."

Voldemort pointed his wand at him.

"Hey! No need to get testy — I was only saying that most people don't stop and think. It was a compliment!" Loki threw up his hands in surrender, his calm façade melting away, "When you want back, all you have to do is say one word: kipshem."

"Kipshim?" Voldemort repeated, lowering his wand and wrinkling his nose in consternation, "What does that even mean?"

"No. KipshEM." Loki corrected, "And I haven't the slightest. It's a word Quetzalcoatl made up." He brought his hands back down to his sides, still nervous but quickly regaining a more dignified composure.

"We'll test the portal first then—"

"An excellent idea," Loki interjected, "just pick a person you trust and we'll send him in first."

Voldemort frowned. "How much do I have to trust this person?"

"Enough to have faith that he or she wont go back in time and kill one of your parents before you have a chance to even exist." Loki answered indifferently.

Voldemort shook his head, frowning deeper. "No. It can't be that easy—"

"To find people you trust?" Loki was visibly surprised.

"No," Voldemort snapped, fixing the underhanded deity with a molten glare, "to stop me from ever being born. If it were that easy you or some other god would have done it by now."

"We might have," Loki confessed, "if we'd known that these fangs still existed. Old Quet must have had stronger magic than we thought. He told us they were destroyed, and we believed it when gods and men alike failed to turn them up after centuries of searching. That's part of the reason I was so quick to agree to our bargain — I did not believe you would find them. I still don't know how you learned of them in the first place."

Just the hint of a smile blossomed at the corner of Voldemort's mouth. "That's my little secret."

"Oh." Loki's bitterness was thinly veiled, "Just like the identity of whatever resurrected you and gave you all those powers."

"Exactly." Voldemort's almost-a-smile slipped. "Now, about that test…"

"I'll go." Wicca volunteered.

Her husband gave her a stern look. "No."

"Why? You know I wouldn't betray you." She reached out with a finger and flicked a few stray strands of black hair away from his eyes.

"I know, but you are staying here with me." Voldemort's tone was firm. Powerful. He was _not_ risking Wicca in this venture.

"I know just the thing," Loki clapped his hands together, causing a few Death Eaters to jump, "I'll be right back." And before anyone could stop him, he disappeared in a whirlpool of electrical currents.

Voldemort's frown returned with a vengeance. "I didn't give him permission to go anywhere." He stared into the crackling portal and got the same sinking feeling he'd experienced decades ago when he first realized that the lowly Harry Potter might actually be a threat to him after all.

His instincts proved correct when, seconds later, Loki reappeared in front of the portal with Cain. In the blink of an eye he threw him in. The portal swallowed its prize and fizzled out of existence, leaving behind only the fangs, which ceased to glow and dropped to the floor.

"There," Loki stated, as if he'd done Voldemort a favor, "You can be certain that your own son has it in his best interest not to kill you."

Wicca paled, gazing at the space her son had occupied in wide-eyed horror. "You didn't tell him how to get back!"

The deity opened his mouth for a second, then, at a loss for words, he closed it. Genuine horror began to manifest itself across his face as he considered the ramifications of his monumental mistake. Then, at last, he managed a single, monosyllabic word: "Oops."

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><p><strong>AN: **All reviews are welcome, including constructive criticism. While I don't write stories just _**for **_them, they certainly do help feed my creative muse, get me thinking, and give me extra incentive to push on when I hit a tough spot! Please do feel free to say whatever you want. ~ Flames will be used to roast Umbridge and Pettigrew.


	2. Hogwarts in Trouble

**Prologue: Part II**

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It hung in the night sky, a beacon of doom. The eerie green serpent extended from the gaping maw of a humanoid skull, whipping its head and upper body around like a hungry tongue eagerly licking at its surroundings.

The Dark Mark.

The emblem of death.

A sure sign that all was not well at Hogwarts, the place over which it hovered.

It had not gone unnoticed. Despite the late hour, a small number of witches and wizards could be found gathered in the streets of Hogsmeade, watching the sky and talking in hushed whispers. Some seemed indifferent. Others confused. One or two seemed generally unconcerned and tried to assure the rest that it was merely a prank, the product of some onry students, and nothing to worry about. But mostly, people were frightened.

Frightened that the rumors they'd once been able to safely push into the corner of fiction were indeed true, and the worst was yet to come.

Thera Flagell was one such person. At ninety-two years old she'd done a lot and seen a lot, and if there was anything her long life had taught her it was that few things were truly impossible. Nightmares could and _did _become reality, no matter how much you didn't want it to be true. Good people lied, good people died, and not everyone got a happy ending. Things didn't prevent themselves from happening just because it would be 'wrong' for them to happen. The universe was far too neutral for that. It worked according to its own agenda, not caring about death or injustice. Such was the way of things.

Voldemort was back.

For real. For certain. Common sense — and a little skilled divination — had revealed it to be so.

What would become of the wizarding world?

The answer to that question wasn't as clear. Voldemort and his followers had enemies, and these enemies would try to eliminate them, but the final outcome was still shrouded in a fog of mystery. It was too early to make any calls.

Standing barefoot on her doorstep, the wrinkled old witch averted her eyes from the deathly green light display and scanned her street, High Street, for any unusual or suspicious activity. No lamplights were on, but a waning moon bathed the cobblestone road and adjacent buildings in a soft, silvery glow. Across the street, a black-and-white cat darted from around the side of Rosmerta's pub and disappeared into a hedge.

A fond smile blossomed on Thera's face. That was Guinivere, the neighbor lady's cat, out prowling as usual. With such a mounting atmosphere of unease it was comforting to see something familiar.

The rest of the area was as quiet as a tomb, and almost as lively. A pair of dark figures stood, unmoving, at the end of the road, but they were so far away that Thera's failing eyesight could barely discern them. If they were conversing, it was in voices too low to be heard.

They didn't look particularly suspicious, she thought. _Probably forming their own theories about what's happening tonight. _

A light breeze blew up, gently ruffling the ruffles and folds of her silken lavender nightclothes. She shivered. Not from the cold — indeed, it wasn't that chilly out tonight — but from the sudden wave of wrongness that washed over her. It was like being at the beach and seeing the water suddenly recede to dangerously low levels.

Whatever the Death Eaters were doing at Hogwarts, something else was about to happen. Something foreign…and wrong. Thera couldn't explain how she knew this. She just did.

Movement!

The old witch turned her head sharply to the left. At first she didn't see anything, and she thought maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no — there it was again.

Her eyes followed the movement to its source, and now she was _sure _she was seeing things. _What is __**that**__?_

Five feet above the middle of the road a portion of air the size of a large pumpkin began to shimmer and ripple, as if it were water. Then it exploded outward, growing bigger and bigger — two, four, ten times its original size! When it was large enough to accommodate a couple of men, it stopped abruptly. An ethereal golden ring of pure magic appeared to highlight the border where rippling air met normal air.

Lights!

Amazingly brilliant, colorful lights erupted within the center of the circle and spread out so rapidly that they filled it in less than a second, creating a moving tapestry of glowing magic.

Now there was no doubt in Thera's mind as to what she was looking at — it was a portal. A faint crackling noise emanated from it.

_Well I'll be a hen's mother, I never thought I'd live to see one of these!_ She remembered hearing somewhere that portals took a ludicrous amount of magical energy and an equally as staggering amount of skill to create. In fact, some wizards claimed they couldn't be created at all and dismissed all stories of them as just that — stories.

But here she was, staring right at one!

Her initial excitement, however, was quickly tempered with caution. Anyone powerful enough to conjure up a portal this grand was a force to be reckoned with; that feeling of wrongness she'd experienced earlier returned en masse. She took a step back towards the safety of her home.

Yet a part of her yearned to stay, to see what would come out of this marvel of magic.

She didn't have long to wait.

Only seconds after it had formed, the portal discharged its traveler. Forcefully. The person didn't so much walk as tumble out headfirst. His arms flew out to break his fall, and he managed to avoid smashing his face against the cobblestone. Getting up quickly, he spun around just in time to witness the portal wink out of existence.

Thera stared at him, surprised.

It was a boy. Not a man, not a king, not a mythical creature. A boy. He looked fourteen, maybe sixteen at most. His youthful face had a fair complexion and was a nice blend between gentle and sharp features, looking neither too pudgy nor too chiseled. In fact, there was something about the height of his cheekbones or the slant of his jaw — she couldn't tell which — that gave him a bit of an aristocratic appearance. His black hair reached a good two or three inches past his ears and shone silver in places with the moonlight.

What _really_ grabbed Thera's attention, however, were the glowing red eyes. They were kind of hard to miss, and, once you noticed them, even harder to ignore.

"Young man?" she called out softly, curiosity winning out over caution. Those flaming eyes turned to her, and she knew she had his attention. "Did you create that portal?"

"I wish." The boy's voice was smooth, quiet. As he spoke the glow left his eyes, leaving them a color ambiguous in the dark.

"Oh." The elderly woman blinked. She didn't know what startled her more: the fact that the boy didn't make the portal, which, by all means, _shouldn't _have comes as a surprise, or his unusual eyes. _He's a strange one. There's more here than meets the eye. _"Well then." she stammered, noting with interest that the kid was dressed in the same loose-fitting, black-with-green-trim robes worn by Hogwarts Slytherin students, "do you know who did?" It sounded more polite than outright asking _'Who did?'_.

But the boy wasn't paying attention. He was staring intently at the Dark Mark, still fresh over Hogwarts. "Accio nearest broom." The hurried command almost seemed to produce a broom out of nowhere. This was hastily mounted, and the stranger was flying off before Thera had time to say another word.

**X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X**

****X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X****

Cain sped toward the Dark Mark as fast as he could, pushing the broom to its limit and then some. _This. Is not. The best broom_. The thing went like, half the speed of his _Firebolt 2050 Limited Edition_; he'd be lucky to reach Hogwarts by next week at this rate. He needed to go faster.

Luckily, the speed-increasing charm he'd learned last week was still fresh in his mind. He uttered the words, and the broom put on a massive burst of speed.

Too much speed, in fact. Cain had to hold on tightly as the scenery beneath him raced by in a blur. _Bloody hell. Why do I always overcast this? _

If he'd been going half the speed of his Firebolt before, it felt like he was doing double that now. His eyes struggled to take in the environment quickly enough for his brain to process.

Insane! Things were happening too fast — was that Hogwarts directly below? Had he overshot his target?

Praying the answer was no, he whipped his broom around at an angle that nearly gave him whiplash and fought to regain control. "Slow down! Slow down!" He commanded frantically, concentrating all his magical and mental energy on the task.

The broom slowed.

A little.

His instincts proved correct: he was indeed above Hogwarts. The Dark Mark glittered over the Astronomy Tower.

_Time to find out what this is all about. _Cain could not even begin to guess at why the Death Eaters would be attacking Hogwarts, especially without his father to back them up. It seemed like an infinitely stupid move. What would be the motive? None of the top ten on the Death Eater hitlist could be found anywhere near the school. Plus his father had promised him that Hogwarts would be safe until he finished his seventh year there. Whoever was attacking didn't have permission.

_Unless…maybe he's after Harry's kids! It'd be just like him to — wait, that's just silly. He can't expect anyone to get past Grandma and Snape. Then again, he __**did **__tell the others to stay at the temple…_

This was getting more confusing by the second. It didn't make any sense for his father to risk losing so many followers, especially when he had to compete with Draco for the best shades.

At the rate he was going, Cain reached the Astronomy Tower in no time. There he was greeted by a most curious sight.

An old man with a long, white beard was backed up against the ramparts. Some Death Eaters and a young man who, at a glance, looked very similar to Draco Malfoy were closing in on him. They all looked up when Cain flew overhead, their faces cast in a greenish tint from the light of the Mark.

Cain was going too fast to stop in time without throwing himself a hundred meters over the broom, so he jumped off instead. It was almost a four yard drop to the tower, and when he hit the impact sent him painfully to his knees. He recovered quickly, though, and, wincing a little from the discomfort of his throbbing legs and hands, found himself gazing upon four completely unfamiliar faces and one hauntingly familiar one. He had aimed his descent well — he was standing between the old man and the Draco look-alike. Right where he wanted to be.

"What are you people _doing_?" he snapped, wasting no time with pleasantries, drawing his wand just in case, "Who ordered this attack?"

He expected a simple, respectful answer right away. These were his father's minions. They knew better than to give him a hassle.

Or so he thought.

To his surprise, all five Death Eaters gaped at him, as if they had absolutely no idea who he was and were quite unused to being spoken to in such a manner.

One of them, an overweight man in desperate need of a shave actually said "Huh?" and stared at him stupidly.

The Draco look-alike frowned anxiously. "The Dark Lord, who else?" He stiffened suddenly. "Impedi—"

A reddish jet of magic flew from Cain's wand and disarmed him in a flash. The ejected wand rocketed off the opposite end of the tower.

The Draco doppelganger paled until he was nearly as white as a sheet. Behind him, the Death Eaters were less scared but equally as impressed; their astonished, puzzled expressions vanished and became dead serious. Hands tightened around wands.

The old man coughed. "Thank you, my friend." he managed weakly, sounding even older than he looked, "But you should save yourself while you can. I wouldn't want you getting killed on my account."

Cain heard the words, but only as background. It hadn't struck him before just _how much _the blonde warlock standing in front of him looked like Draco.

_My god, they could be brothers!_ Everything about him from the color and style of his hair to the details of his face was the spitting image of Draco Malfoy. The only difference was that he appeared to be a few years younger.

Cain was just about to comment on this when a gritty, rasping voice said "This one's mine!"

The hairy, overweight Death Eater who had looked so stupid before lunged forward with a speed that didn't seem possible for a man of his build.

At that same moment, the sounds of a scuffle erupted from somewhere within the stairwell. "Reducto! REDUCTO!" someone was shouting.

Cain was so surprised to be attacked by a Death Eater that he almost didn't react fast enough. Bloody, clawed fingers were almost to his throat before he lashed out with his left hand and struck his assailant in the chest, sending the largest charge of lightning he could muster into the thick body.

A piercing howl escaped the Death Eater's throat as he went flying backward, smashed through the rampart, and disappeared over the edge of the tower.

"Do you idiots even know who I am?" Cain snarled savagely, the shock of the moment still fresh in his system. He felt the special tingling sensation in his eyes that meant they were glowing.

"No idea!" Draco's double squeaked, backing away. He looked at the old man as though he could somehow protect him.

The three remaining Death Eaters — a harsh-faced man, a lumpy-faced man, and a short, squat woman who looked as though she were the lumpy-faced man's sister —exchanged worried glances.

"I'm afraid we've not made your acquaintance before." the old wizard behind Cain said gently, "Please, do introduce yourself."

"It's me! Cain Riddle!" At the confused, blank faces he was getting he added, "You know, Lord Voldemort's son? Where have you guys been the last fifteen years? Under a rock?"

For a long moment, there was silence. The ghastly glow of the Dark Mark fell down upon a scene of shock and confusion.

Draco's double and the Death Eaters seemed paralyzed beyond words and thoughts. They just stood there, eyes wide, staring at Cain as though he had just revealed himself to be a flying unicorn animagus capable of firing killing curses from its alicorn.

Cain couldn't believe they hadn't known — his heritage was certainly no secret, especially among Death Eaters. _Did Dad miss this bunch? Or did they all get hit with Obliviate at some point? _Maybe his insinuation about them living under a rock hadn't been that far from the truth.

And why did that one look almost-but-not-quite-exactly like Draco? It was downright _weird_.

As he stood there, trying to make sense of all the craziness going on around him, his fiery glare cooled to a more normal intensity.

The door to the ramparts burst open, and Snape walked out.

"It's about time you got here!" Cain greeted, relieved to finally see someone familiar.

Snape blinked, clearly startled by the warm welcome. His dark eyes swept from Cain to the three Death Eaters, and then to the old man and the Draco look-alike, both backed against the ramparts.

"We've got a serious problem, Snape." the lumpy-faced man said, trembling a bit, "The Dark Lord had a son and didn't tell us."

"Yeah!" The woman Cain mentally labeled his sister twitched, "And he killed Greyback!"

Cain tilted his head. "So that was the name of the lunatic that attacked me — "

"Draco, where is your wand?" Snape was blunt and to the point. He seemed strangely indifferent to Cain and the Death Eaters.

"I…he blasted it out of my hand!" the blonde warlock said petulantly, jabbing a finger at Cain, "It went off the tower."

_He's got to be kidding! _Cain thought, taken aback, _That __**can't**__ be Grandfather! _Even if Draco had made himself look a few years younger within the span of minutes and then somehow found a way to get past the anti-apparating barrier to appear on the Astronomy Tower it made no sense, none at all, for him to be afraid of his own grandson and turn down a chance to flaunt his power by way of attacking the Death Eaters, who were normally his favorite toys.

And speaking of the Death Eaters, why wasn't Snape attacking them? It had been a long time since he had been a Death Eater. He'd removed the Dark Mark from his wrist shortly after becoming a Phenomenal. Cain's father had tried — unsuccessfully — to get him back several times.

Then it hit like lightning: the portal!

_How could've I not seen it? Everything's been weird since I stepped out of that thing_…his mind flashed back to the temple, to Ron telling him about the Book of Curse and how his father wanted to use the Fangs of Quetzalcoatl to time-travel back to ancient Egypt and get it, to someone grabbing him, to bright lights and a weightless sensation, to stumbling onto High Street…

Suddenly he felt about as intelligent as Frederick Goyle, who had a reputation for being the stupidest kid in Hogwarts. He should have known! He should have figured it out right away! The blonde warlock looked like Draco because he _was _Draco.

_Oh great Slytherin, I'm in the __**PAST**__!_


	3. What Happened on the Astronomy Tower

**A/N: **_Greetings dear readers! Just a few important notes before you read. _

_Firstly, I am playing up the potency of the poison/potion Dumbledore drank in the Horcrux cave. In this universe, in addition to causing extreme thirst and making the drinker relive his/her worst memories, the potion has the added effect of greatly weakening and disorienting the drinker after the initial effects have subsided. It kills within a few months with even the best care; however, the drinker appears to be dying for most of this time, with the worst of the symptoms coming and going. In this story I am using it instead of the cursed ring to account for Dumbledore's awful predicament. Why? Two main reasons: __**1) **__back when I first wrote this I was familiar only with the movies' versions of events and forgot all about the Gaunt ring even existing, and __**2) **__choosing not to keep this plot point would call for a rewrite of at least two chapters of this story. As I am eager to finish the revamped chapters so that I can pick up writing where I left off, I decided to just leave it alone and have it be yet another way in which this Potterverse is AU from Rowling's canon. _

_Secondly, I am well aware that Cain Riddle may seem a bit Gary-Stuish to some readers. For sure he does have some mightily impressive powers and abilities that were unheard of in the span of time Rowling's books cover, but in his time he is not the only one to possess such powers/abilities, nor is he particularly adept at using all of them. In all the chapters I have written so far I think he seems the most Gary-Stuish in this one, but rest assured that other characters WILL have their turn shine, and that Cain has character-flaws and physical/magical limitations just like everyone else that will be increasingly evident throughout the coming chapters. The story is from his point-of-view, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all primary characters along with him, and I do not intend to shove them to the side or downplay any of their strengths, weaknesses, and contributions. Other familiar characters will have sizeable roles as well. _

_Sorry for the lengthy author notes: were I to start this story from scratch, I would write a few parts differently. Thank you for reading, and I hope you'll bear with me! My writing has evolved a lot since these early chapters and continues to evolve every day. :-) _

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><p><strong>Prologue: Part III<strong>

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Well, that certainly explained a lot.

Snape turned his attention to Cain. Frowning sternly, he leveled his wand at him.

"He was only defending himself, Severus." the old man said softly.

"Careful," Draco warned, a slight tremor in his voice "that kid's stronger than he looks!"

"And he's the Dark Lord's son!" Lumpy-Face's sister blurted.

Snape ignored them. Cain could see that he was going to blast him anyway, and no matter which spell he used that could only be a bad thing.

"Petrificus totalus!" Amazingly, he and Snape said this in unison.

Two bolts of magic, one from each wand, shot out into the air like tiny sizzling rockets and collided head-on. Cain's overtook Snape's and continued on its path as if it had encountered no resistance. The older warlock froze rigid as a board and fell to the floor.

_Nope. Definitely not a Fen yet. _Even though he hadn't really hurt him, Cain felt a little bad about petrifying the guy like that. Snape was his favorite teacher. Future Snape showed favoritism towards him, even if he didn't get along fantastically with his father. "Sorry." He whispered in a voice too quiet to be heard.

"Holy —" The harsh-faced Death Eater lost his train of thought as Cain used his silent Expelliarmus to blast his wand off the tower. He watched pitifully as the same thing happened to his comrades — so swiftly the other two didn't even have time to utter the first syllable of a counterspell.

Now all three were wandless.

For a moment they simply stood there, unblinking, like a trio of rabbits caught by surprise in a really bright Lumos. Then common sense kicked in, and they turned and bolted down the open stairwell, nearly tripping over each other in their haste. Apparently they ran into some trouble about halfway down; a few seconds later the sounds of a fight reverberated through the entire tower.

_Oh great, _Cain thought in a mild panic_, I can't keep blasting everyone who comes up! What's supposed to happen here, anyway? _

Maybe nothing. He'd heard plenty of stories about the past, and not once did the Astronomy Tower feature.

Then again, most of the stories he'd heard were from Death Eaters, and with the exceptions of his parents and Rodolphus none of them were immune to aging. Since he'd never seen the foursome he'd just defeated, and the average life-expectancy of a Death Eater was not long, it was a safe bet that they were dead in his time, taking their tales with them to the grave.

But Draco would surely remember, and he had said nothing.

_Which doesn't necessarily mean anything, _Cain's intuition cautioned _Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. _

What to do?

His mind raced for the answer.

None of the Death Eaters present here tonight, however many that was, were his friends, and he didn't know who else was stirred up in this fight, or who knew what about who, for that matter. All he knew for sure was that Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape were definitely not supposed to die. Now that he'd already changed history just by being there, that could very well happen if he left them alone on the tower.

He fixed his gaze upon Draco, who cowered next to the old man.

"Stay away from me!" the young warlock spat, his expression distinctly akin to that of a hunted animal.

"Impressive, Cain." the old man said calmly, "Tell me, how is it that you acquired such power?"

"I was kind of born this way." Cain answered, frowning as he eyed the stiff Snape. Any second now they were sure to have company. "We need to get out of Hogwarts, and fast. Any ideas?" The best he could come up with spur-of-the-moment was to shapeshift into a creature that was large, winged, and rideable, but given the circumstances that probably wasn't the best plan. Hogwarts was surrounded by a fair amount of open ground, and any form he could take that would be big enough to lift both Dumbledore and Draco would be a nice target for anyone who cared to take aim; he doubted he'd be able to make it as far as the Forbidden Forest.

"Your concern is appreciated, Cain." the old man said with some effort, his strength fading fast, "But we'll be safer here. The Order of the Phoenix are already in the building, and more help is arriving as we speak."

_The Order of the Phoenix? _Cain blinked. _They sound familiar…where have I…oh! That's right! They were one of the groups that opposed my father back in the old days. _He had run across mentions of the Order of the Phoenix in one or two of his schoolbooks. However, none of the passages referencing them went into much detail: all he had been able to glean was that they were that they were a vigilante anti-Death Eater movement that had existed around the time his grandparents were young adults. At some point they had stopped existing: in Cain's lifetime, at least, no actions or attacks had been attributed to them, and even those old enough to have been teenagers or older in their heyday never talked about them. Either all of the members had been killed, or — more likely, in Cain's opinion — those members still willing and able to fight once the Third Wizarding War had started had splintered off into the Auror and Dark Auror camps.

In any case, if the Order was here right now then their prospects were not as bad as he had initially thought.

Cain nodded. "Alright Mr…."

"Dumbledore." Haggard and weak though he was, there was a twinkle in the old man's eye as he said this.

"Dumbledore." Cain repeated, slowly. _I've heard that name before, too._ "What do you want me to do?"

"Hold on." Dumbledore staggered wearily to his feet, grabbing hold of the ramparts for extra support.

Cain wanted to help him, as he had already decided he liked this friendly old wizard, but he didn't know what was wrong with him. Trying to fix a problem he knew nothing about would likely do more harm than good, especially since healing spells were, to put it mildly, not his forté.

Dumbledore gestured outward with one hand towards an empty space near the door of the tower.

At least, the space _looked_ empty.

An instant later a black-haired wizard about Draco's age was there, rushing to Dumbledore's aid.

Cain recognized him in a flash. _It's young Harry! And he's got Tobias's invisibility cloak!_

Of course, this was before Tobias was born, so naturally it'd be Harry's cloak. These things were going to take some getting used to.

Harry's wand was aimed at Draco's chest almost before he'd finished reaching Dumbledore. "I knew it!" he growled, his face flushed with rage, "I knew you were a Death Eater!"

"Well what did you expect?" Draco snapped, his tone equally as vehement, "You — "

"Please, calm down." Dumbledore interrupted, placing a hand lightly on Harry's shoulder.

"But…he was going to kill you!" Harry protested, never taking his eyes off Draco. Nevertheless he lowered his wand.

"I don't believe he would have." Dumbledore's voice was patient. Soothing. "And he hasn't, so no harm has been done there. However, there is the matter of Draco and his mother…" he looked Draco directly in the eye, "…don't worry. We _will_ protect you. Both of you."

Draco snorted, but all the same the words seemed to comfort him. "I don't see how. You're almost dead and Voldemort just keeps getting stronger."

"That's not true. We have another H…" Harry started, then stopped. He was staring at the shiny silver Slytherin locket Cain wore around his neck. His face took on a tenor of surprise.

Cain looked down, just to be sure it wasn't glowing or something.

"Accio Horcrux!" Harry commanded, holding his hand out expectantly.

Nothing happened.

"What are you doing?" Cain pinched the delicate chain of his necklace near the locket and held it out for them to see. "This isn't a Horcrux. It's a replica of Slytherin's locket."

"A…replica?" Harry gave him a look that indicated he didn't altogether believe that.

"Yes. You didn't think my father would let me have the real one, did you?"

"He's telling the truth." Dumbledore verified. He started to sink under his own weight, and Harry had to grab him and sling his arm over his shoulder, propping him up with his own body. "I still have…" his voice was fainter now, further away, "…it."

The noises coming from the stairwell intensified. Someone was fighting very fiercely to get up. Spells were being fired at an alarming rate.

If they were going to help Dumbledore they were going to have to be quick: he was growing weaker and more disoriented by the minute. Already his eyes had lost their luster and taken on a rheumy, barely-registering appearance. His cheeks were fast approaching an unhealthy shade of sallow, and each passing second saw him lean more heavily into Harry. He looked terrible.

"What's wrong with him?" Cain inquired.

"He drank a lot of poison." Harry replied in a rush, already starting to walk the old wizard towards the ramparts door, "Poison your father put in his Horcrux cave." _'Your father' _was said with a slight but unmistakable sneer.

Cain let it slide. People put both sides of his family down all the time; he was quite used to it by now.

_Poison, huh? _From the foggy recesses of his mind emerged the memory of Snape's secret antidote compartment located behind a special brick in the Slytherin dungeon. Future Snape kept all his rarest and most effective medicinal potions there in case of an emergency. Whether or not this Past Snape also did was iffy, as it was impossible to know when he'd started the habit, but Cain figured they had a fifty-fifty chance of finding it there, and, if they did, an eight-twenty chance in favor of finding something worthwhile.

Dicey, yes, but worth a risk. From the looks of it Harry didn't have a better idea.

"Alright," he breathed, ignoring the small nagging voice in the back of his mind that urged him not to help, "Harry, I know you don't have a reason to trust me, but if you want a shot at saving Dumbledore you'll put that aside a moment and let me explain later. There's a secret compartment in the Slytherin dungeon where Snape _should_ have a stash of rare and powerful antidotes. I don't know if they'll reverse the effects, but they might help, or at least buy us some more time. If you want to go for it I'll stay in front and cover you."

Harry hesitated, uncertainty flickering about his face.

Cain couldn't blame him for being suspicious; after all, he _was_ the son of his worst enemy.

But whatever misgivings Harry was having he brushed them away. "Alright," he answered after a beat, sounding more desperate than trusting. He pointed his wand at Dumbledore and a stream of bluish energy arced out to touch him lightly on the forehead. It must have been a weight-reducing charm — Cain noticed Harry didn't have to strain as much to hold his friend up.

Draco's face contorted into an expression of amused surprise . "You mean you're actually going to listen to him? Wow. You're even stupider than I thought."

"Maybe," Harry's voice was tinged with the same uncertainty manifested on his features, "but what have I got to lose?"

Draco laughed — a forced, extremely nervous chuckle. "Let's see — your _life_ for starters. And Dumbledore's."

Harry actually smiled a little in response, and in that instant Cain swore he saw a spark of Future Harry shine through. When he spoke, there was just a tinge of good-nature to his otherwise sarcastic tone. "Better watch it, Draco, or someone might start thinking you cared what happened to us. You wouldn't want _that_."

Draco scoffed. "I _don't_ care! It's just…just…" he stammered, unable to find the right words. Frustration set in, and he looked away, his face all scrunched up out of shape.

Harry shook his head mockingly. "Just what, Malfoy? You're the only one allowed to give us grief?"

They were in the threshold now, Cain a few paces in the lead.

"You're laughing now, but you won't be! Not when Dumbledore's dead along with everyone else you care about. Voldemort's going to win — you can't stop him!" The anger coloring Draco's voice was merely a disguise: just below the surface he was quaking with fear. Fear for himself and his family.

_I can't just leave him here_, Cain thought, _he's scared enough to do something stupid. __Not that I blame him, but I'd better keep him close to be on the safe side_.

(( Draco? )) he called out, switching to telepathy both to keep the conversation private and remind his young grandfather that he was not an average Fourth Year, (( I know you can hear me. Don't answer. Your favorite number is seven; Buckbeak didn't hurt you a fraction as much as you let on; you didn't get that letter from Syrena Rookwood you were expecting on your thirteenth birthday; your aunt Bellatrix really _does _scare you, no matter how many times you lie to your parents; and your mother made an unbreakable vow with Snape to protect you after your father was thrown in Azkaban. I_ know _you. I'm from the future. I'll tell you more later, but right now you have to follow us, because if I've already made a big enough mistake it'll take more than Snape to protect you. ))


	4. Introductions All Around

**Chapter 1**

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My name is Cain Reaver Riddle. It was almost Cain Reaver Malfoy, but at the last moment Dad finally gave in to Mum's assertions that Riddle was a pretty surname and married in it. I'm glad it turned out that way: I like my name. It doesn't form any nifty anagrams like my father's — the best I can get is the grammatically incorrect 'I R Daniel Vercerda' which, suffice to say, I will not be using as an alias anytime soon — but it has a nice ring to it. I can thank my father for the first two parts, since Mum left naming me entirely up to him. Although he never said so explicitly, I suspect I may have been named after the biblical Cain who killed his brother out of jealousy.

It's ironic, because my brother is dead too, only I had nothing to do with it.

I'm a warlock. In my society we're usually called wizards, but I prefer 'warlock' because it has a slightly more negative connotation and I like to think of myself as a darker entity.

I was born the night of December 27, 2035, in my parents' manor in Scotland. During the middle of a snowstorm, apparently. Right from the start I had a crazily unfair advantage over, well, just about everyone since my father is the most powerful warlock on Earth. He is also the leader of a fearsome mage cult known as 'The Death Eaters', and on the morning following my birth he summoned them all to our manor, where he proudly presented me. In addition to making them promise to put my life above theirs and protect me at all times, my father made it clear that any Death Eater who harmed me, even by accident, would be tortured and killed.

My mother is no slouch in the power department either, though she pales in comparison to my dad and even her parents, who form a three-way tie with Severus Snape for the position of second most powerful mage in the world.

Funny how being related to the individuals I am colors people's opinions of me. I've been labeled everything from a sociopath who would kill his own mother in her sleep to a charming young man with a good soul. While it's true that I like to fool people into thinking that I'm kinder, more honest, and less violent than I really am, I can't possibly be a sociopath because there are people I love and care about with all my heart. My parents definitely make the list. So does Rodolphus, whom I have come to think of as an uncle even though we're not really related in any way.

I'm fourteen years old, almost fifteen. People say I look mostly like my father with a touch of my maternal grandfather thrown in. This is a fairly accurate description, though my eyes aren't always red like Dad's.

I go to 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' and was thrilled — though not surprised — to be sorted into the House bearing my ancestor Slytherin's name.

I like Quidditch. A lot. Nothing beats racing through the air on a broom at speeds fast enough to kill me if I make one wrong move in pursuit of a tiny golden ball with hilarious little buzzing wings. It's completely ace. If I wasn't going to be a Death Eater, I'd probably consider a career in professional Quidditch when I grow up.

I get good grades and I like to keep myself and my personal spaces clean, but my notes are so messy that my friend Sven, who has been living off them for four years now, sometimes has to interpret them for me.

A shame I didn't inherit my father's beautiful penmanship, or even my mother's passable penmanship. Mine looks like it was Cruciated three ways and hit with a disfiguring hex. Maybe it's because I write really fast — I don't know.

I have a ton of friends I can't count on, and maybe one or two I would honestly trust with my life. I even have a worst enemy: Tobias Potter.

Oh yes.

I knew we were going to be having problems from the moment we first met in the Great Hall of Hogwarts on my first day of school. All the other kids were shy of me, but not him. His very first words to me were: "So, you're the infamous _Riddle_ everyone's been talking about. You don't look like much to me. I hope you don't cry too much when my father feeds yours his sorry arse."

Of course, I couldn't help my little outburst that followed, and things just went downhill from there. We made life as miserable as we could for each other every chance we got. I always had the upper hand because I'm better at controlling my temper and planning things out whereas Tobias is impulsive with a short fuse.

Things got really interesting for a while there last year when I first learned how to use telepathy, an ability few mages possess. It was fun taunting and nagging him inside his head, sometimes causing him to shout out loud during tests, lectures — basically any time I wanted him to look stupid.

And best of all, thanks to my father showing me how to secretly counter the effects of veritaserum, I never had to worry about being caught!

However, after the first few incidences I made it a point limit myself, as even a favorable veritaserum test couldn't cover me _that _many times, especially since everyone in my immediate family is a known telepath.

Anyway, that's my life in a nutshell: rich and powerful family, extraordinary magical ability myself, little to fear, and a brilliant outlook for the future.

At least, that _was _my life.

Maybe someday it will be again.

Unfortunately, someone decided I wasn't doing enough traveling and pushed me into a magical portal that sent me at least fifty years back in time.

That was the beginning of this mess.

I knew something was wrong the moment the portal ejected me into the streets of Hogsmeade and I happened to look up and notice my father's Dark Mark hovering above Hogwarts.

This struck me as strange. For one thing, Dad promised me he wouldn't attack Hogwarts until after I'd graduated. Dad has a bad rep, but so far his promises to me have been good as gold.

Next, and most importantly, I happened to know Dad was busy in Central America at that moment. With the other Death Eaters. That meant that whoever was attacking was doing so without both his help _and _his permission. Considering that my grandmother and Snape both stay at Hogwarts during the school year, and either one of them could single-handedly destroy any number of Death Eaters with the ease of a cat shut in a room full of mice, that would be taking 'stupid' to the extreme.

No — something else was happening.

So I grabbed the nearest broom and made haste for the spot directly under the Mark, which turned out to be the Astronomy Tower.

At first I didn't realize I was in the past. I should have — I mean, I'd _heard_ my father was looking for the Fangs of Quetzalcoatl, and that he was somehow going to use them to travel back in time — but at that moment that nice little piece of information slipped my mind.

So when I got there and saw five Death Eaters closing in on a defenseless old man out on the ramparts, I just assumed they were insane and/or suicidal.

That was my first mistake.

My second was assuming the Death Eaters knew better than to attack me. They didn't, and not long after I landed on the tower I nearly got my throat torn out by the werewolf amongst them.

I really hate werewolves: even the fat, untransformed ones can move ridiculously fast, and that, combined with their wickedly sharp teeth and claws, make them downright lethal.

By sheer dumb luck I was able to react in enough time to save myself by slamming my hand into the idiot's chest and sending a massive charge of lightning through it. That took care of that.

Around the same time I started noticing that one of the Death Eaters looked a little too much like a younger version of Draco for coincidence, Snape walked out and addressed him as such.

That, I'm embarrassed to admit, was when it dawned on me.

Another confirmation came almost immediately after when Snape and I both cast Petrificus Totalus at the same time. Mine powered through his like it wasn't even there. Normally I wouldn't have been able to do that.

Anyway, I was able to convince the other Death Eaters to leave pretty easily after that, which left me with the old man, Draco, and Harry, who'd been frozen under his invisibility cloak the whole time.

The old man, Dumbledore, had been forced to drink one of my father's poisons, rendering him seriously ill.

Now, I don't normally consider myself a 'nice' person. I can be a good actor when it suits me, but unless I'm trying to impress someone I don't normally go out of my way to help people. My father taught me to avoid such weaknesses.

"_It's advantageous to gain people's trust and friendship." _He told me_, "Put on any acts you want to achieve these ends. Be the model student. Compliment classmates. Use your power and status to protect the weak, sniveling nobodies that are better off dead. You never know who you will need later on, so try to leave a good impression on everyone you meet. Think of yourself as an actor filling a role. Just watch that you don't turn into the character you're playing. Only _pretend_ to care. Getting too close to people will only open you up for trouble later on. Your friends may abandon you, or use your love for them to take advantage of you, or die. Your enemies could capture them and use them to blackmail you, because people will do anything to protect the ones they love. A powerful, truly successful leader is free of such vulnerabilities. He does what he wants when he wants without letting others get in the way or cloud his judgment. Always remember that, Cain. Help others __**only**__ to help yourself."_

I've heard the same lecture dozens of times in dozens of ways. I agree with it wholeheartedly.

So far I've saved Dumbledore's life twice.

The first time was unintentional; I was defending myself, and that worked in Dumbledore's favor since I was between him and his enemies.

The second time, however, I not only told Harry about Snape's secret stash of healing potions and where to find them, I helped him _A) _get there, and _B) _select a promising mixture once we did.

Why'd I do that?

Saving Dumbledore didn't benefit me. I could've easily gotten away with pretending to know nothing, and no-one would've been any the wiser.

Yet there was something about him that made me want to help him. Maybe it was the way he was so forgiving and unassuming, even towards those who were trying to kill him. Devastating character flaws, I know, but strangely enough they seemed to give him…strength? Vigor? I don't know. I can't explain it.

And, okay, I felt I small urge to help Harry.

Why?

Because Future Harry tried to warn me that someone was about to grab me.

Silly of me to let that matter, but I did.

And after the potion I helped Harry pick out seemed to give Dumbledore back some of his strength, practically everyone who wasn't a Death Eater cheered. Dumbledore is a pretty popular man, I take it.

I've heard that name before, and it's driving me nuts to the tenth power because I can't remember _where_.

After the Death Eaters left, it was too late to do anything but get some rest. The students were immediately ushered off to their dorms while the Aurors and this group called 'The Order of the Phoenix' got to work cleaning things up. Harry, Hermione, and Ron all stayed close to the teachers and other authority figures, and I doubt any of them got much sleep. Snape kept hovering around giving me dirty looks when nobody was looking, but apparently his cover of being a 'good' guy wasn't blown, as nobody suspects him of anything.

Ironic.

Future Snape really _is_ good.

At least, I _think _he is. It's a little hard to tell sometimes with the way he's still good friends with my grandfather, an open shade, and enjoys darkening the majority of the student body's day, but he's married to a muggle and has been known to help the Ministry.

Anyway, the teachers and head officials all got together, and after a few minutes' discussion decided that I would be allowed to stay the night and report my situation in the morning. So I followed Draco into the Slytherin boys' dormitory. There I was instantly thankful for my telepathy, which allowed me to communicate with him very quietly.

I was also thankful for my tailor-made 'intruder alarm' spell which I cast to automatically wake me up if Snape set so much as a foot in the room. Future Snape's swell, but I wouldn't trust this one as far as a penguin can fly.

Getting to sleep was difficult, but I managed somehow.

So far this morning has gotten off to a shaky start. When I woke it was to see a crowd of Slytherins standing around my bed staring at me. They'd heard.

I knew it wouldn't be much use explaining my situation right then there, because then I would be asked to repeat myself at least a hundred times, so I got up and bolted for the nearest exit.

A persistent lot, they followed me around asking questions.

I was vague.

Several prying eyes fixed on my Slytherin locket, and, after explaining that it wasn't the original and didn't contain any great evil, I managed to worm my way through my 'fan club' and out into the Great Hall.

Which is where I am now.

The feeling I experience here is strange: both familiar and unfamiliar at once. By all means, the place _looks_ exactly the same. Same stone walls, same long, wooden benches running the length of the floor. It is breakfast time, and the inviting scent of warm, delicious food hangs heavy in the air. The image of gently-falling rain hides the ceiling, giving the illusion of being outside on an overcast day. A typical scene on any typical Hogwarts morning.

Yet I don't recognize a single person here, with the sole exception of Snape standing up front near the podium. Each of the hundreds of students milling around their respective tables and happily munching away are as alien to me as their teachers.

Okay, so maybe 'happily' isn't the right word — several of them look restless, sad, or downright nervous. A girl sitting at the Hufflepuff table drops no fewer than six sugarcubes into her cereal, her jittery eyes never lingering on any one thing for more than half a second. A boy at the end of Gryffindor is going on about Death Eaters so loudly and feverantly half the table is staring at him.

I scan the area for any sign of Harry, Ron, or Hermione, but to no avail. Maybe they're off visiting Dumbledore in the sick room. The potion we gave him made him feel a little better, but it didn't cure him.

Yes, that's probably what they're doing —

— I've been noticed. Snape approaches an old woman with sharp features and an extra large, pointy hat and says something which causes her lively yellow eyes to focus directly on me.

I smile pleasantly. At least, I _hope _it comes across as pleasant; the old woman's hand flies to her mouth, and I have to wonder. She hurries over to the podium and positions her wand to the side of her mouth.

"Attention everyone!" she announces, her voice magically amplified. The room falls silent. All eyes are on her. "As some of you may already know, Dumbledore has fallen ill. Fortunately he is recovering quickly, and may be feeling well enough to make an appearance by the end of the day. In the meantime he has asked you all to stay calm and indoors. We will be sending everyone home, but until all the necessary arrangements have been made this is the safest place for you to be. As a precaution we have Aurors posted all over the grounds watching closely for any suspicious behavior. Also, it seems we have a guest in our midst. Cain Riddle, will you come here please? The rest of you can continue eating."

Gulp. Here goes nothing.

I start towards the front of the room, and people are all too happy to clear me a path. Despite the fact that the old woman said everyone could get back to eating, hardly anyone is. Hushed whispers race through the air as curious onlookers try to figure out who I am and how I got here.

I don't blame them for being surprised — it isn't every day a random boy shows up out of the blue, especially after a sneak attack. I doubt many of them know who I'm related to, however, since my father never goes by 'Riddle' and I told only a handful of people.

Was that a mistake?

Maybe.

Probably.

But it's too late to change my story now without looking _extremely_ suspicious, since I won't be able to explain why I said the things I did earlier and why I have no family to go to. All I can do is tell them my story and hope they know a way to get me back to my own time.

I reach the old woman and notice more teachers approaching from all sides, forming a loose circle around me. A few older students join this gathering — mostly Slytherins. Draco shoves two of these aside in true Malfoy fashion, rudely pushing his way to the front. I am both surprised and relieved at the arrival of Harry, Ron, and Hermione — they may not be my best friends, but their presence is oddly soothing. The three of them make their way to the innermost part of the circle with little hassle.

Harry and Draco are now opposite each other, exchanging glares that could make the Devil cringe in Hell.

I stifle the urge to laugh — so typical! Future Harry and Draco weren't kidding when they said the roots of their hatred ran deep.

Snape sides up alongside Draco, hiding whatever emotions he's feeling under a mask of mild curiosity. In truth he's probably _very _curious as to why my magic's stronger than his and how I knew about his secret stash. He just happens to be the king of poker faces.

"Cain?" There is a small undercurrent of amazement in the old woman's voice, but nothing to indicate distrust.

I nod. "Yes?"

"I'm Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. Dumbledore tells me you and Harry saved him last night, of which we are all very thankful, but we don't know anything about you. Would you mind telling everyone who you are and where you come from?"

"Not at all." I give a curt bow — a little politeness goes a long way. "But first I want to say that it's a pleasure meeting you, Professor McGonagall." She smiles, and I turn to address the others. "My name is Cain Riddle. I'm from the future, the year 2050. My arrival here was an accident. Someone grabbed me and threw me into a time portal. I don't know who or why."

There is a moment of silence as everyone takes this in. Then an incredibly short little old man says, in a rather friendly tone, "Time portal, you say? Are these common in 2050?"

"No. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Are you really the son of…of…You-Know-Who?" a Slytherin girl asks.

I catch her eye and flash her a sly smile that causes her to pale. "Depends on who you're talking about. If it's Voldemort, yes, I am his son."

It is as if a switch has been flicked.

Everyone starts talking at once, making it impossible to focus in on any one conversation. I do, however, catch snippets:

"Sure he is."

" — would explain the — "

" — can we trust — "

" — is incredible — "

" — in the future?"

One voice, Hermione's, rings out above the rest. "But how is that possible? Voldemort would be really old by then, and even if he weren't he's…"

"Not quite human." Harry finishes.

Hermione nods her agreement. "Right."

That did a nice job of getting everyone's attention. The quiet has returned: I have the floor.

"Normally you'd be right, Hermione." I answer calmly, noting the way she, Harry, and Ron perk up considerably at the use of her name, "But things are kind of insane in the future. You all know what ambrosia is, right?"

"The food, or, by some accounts, the _drink _of the gods." Hermione replies without missing a beat. Ron and Harry stare at her, impressed. "Legend holds that whoever consumes ambrosia will become immortal."

Leave it to Hermione to know something. She's sharp in the future as well.

"True enough, but as it turns out ambrosia is a flower. A very pretty, very magical flower that I'm told tastes something like…" I barely stop myself from saying 'unicorn blood' in time, "…nectar. The sweetest, best-tasting nectar you can imagine, with just a hint of vanilla. It comes in two varieties: light pink and dark pink. The light pink kind makes you immortal. However old you are when you eat it, your body will freeze at that age and never age a second more. Unless someone or something kills you, you'll live forever. That's why I recognized Snape — he looks the same in the future as he does now. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and my parents all look like they're in their early-to-mid twenties. Sometime around the turn of the millennium a trio of young gods showed up in Britain with both kinds of ambrosia. A pair of witches managed to steal almost all of the light pink and a tiny bit of the dark, and to make a long story short others found out and there was a big fight over it. In the end the strongest, luckiest, and most resourceful mages got it and shared it with their families." I pause for breath before continuing. "That was the first wave. The gods left and returned years later with a small army of muggles, demigods, and mythical creatures to try and conquer Hogsmeade, which for some reason they thought was the capitol of the wizarding world. Their timing was horrible. My father had just been resurrected, and he killed most of the army himself hunting for ambrosia. When he got some he shared it with my mother. It was light pink."

"What's the dark pink do?" Ron wonders.

"Makes you a god. One of the witches who stole the original batch ate some and we haven't seen her since."

"Waitaminute," Harry interjects, puzzled, "You said Voldemort was resurrected. What year?"

I pause, trying to remember. My brother Rich was born in…2018?

Yes, that feels right.

Which would mean Dad was resurrected the year prior.

"2017." I say.

"So he was dead before then?"

"Yes. I think you killed him."

A brief jolt of excitement crosses Harry's face; he is thrilled with the news that he will defeat his nemesis. The joy fades with the realization that the defeat isn't permanent.

I wait for him to ask the inevitable question.

"So, how does he come back after that?"

"I honestly don't know. He won't even tell Mum. All I know is whatever resurrected him gave him the body of his young adult self. He looks a lot like me, actually, only about six or seven years older."

Actually, that _isn't_ all I know — the mysterious entity that resurrected Dad also gave him double the power of the other Fen, making him the most powerful mage that ever existed. But I don't see a point in telling the others that. It's likely to have a negative outcome, and anyway I don't feel like explaining the origins of the Phenomenals just now. That will only lead to more questions, and a longer wait for breakfast.

The crowd absorbs this latest bit of information like a sponge. I have them hooked: they want to know more. The faces staring back at me reflect excitement and fascination. Even Snape looks markedly more impressed than usual.

Which stands to reason. Hearing he will become immortal probably made his day.

I wonder how much more of an expression I could get if I told him about his wife, daughter, and son? That'd be one for the picture books!

In addition to being excited and fascinated, Harry, Ron, and Hermione also seem happy. It's not hard to guess why — they've learned that they'll still be alive and together several years in the future as immortals.

I decide I won't tell Harry and Hermione about their marriage, or their first son, Albus, being killed by my father regardless of how long I end up staying here. Some things have to be a surprise in order to work.

Though he is much more relaxed now than he was last night, Draco still appears uncomfortable. Some of this I told him earlier, but he still doesn't know that we're related, or how he and his mother are going to get out of the hot water they're in with my father and the Death Eaters. He told me right before we went to sleep that he was worried Death Eaters were already at his house looking for her.

There's also the issue of he himself being a Death Eater: so far only Snape, Harry, Dumbledore, and myself know about that. There was never any danger of anyone but Harry exposing him, and after the whole Dumbledore incidence last night I managed to persuade Harry to promise him he wouldn't tell.

That was actually much easier than I thought it would be — either Harry was trying to keep peace with me or else he doesn't hate Draco as much as he lets on. Maybe he was just trying to honor Dumbledore's wishes.

In any case I can't blame Draco for being nervous wearing a Dark Mark in school. There's a high penalty for being a Death Eater in any year, and he doesn't yet have the benefit of being immune to the Ministry and its law enforcement. Future Draco laughs at the idea that anyone could put him in Azkaban — in fact he regularly challenges the Aurors to do so — but it's a very real threat to this version. He knows that if he were to be exposed now he wouldn't have many places to hide between general society and the Death Eaters.

McGonagall's face is wrought with amazement. "That's quite the story, Cain. And you seem to know your way around Hogwarts pretty well…are you a student here in the future?"

"Yes."

"Tell me," an older man I haven't heard from before pipes up, "how does that work with you being the son of two Death Eaters, one of them Voldemort himself? Do you live with someone else, or does your father rule the wizarding world?" His stuffy voice carries a sarcastic bite. At least three pinkish scars mar his harsh, deeply-lined face.

Ten Galleons says he's an Auror.

He's lucky we're not alone or I think I might give him a few more scars.

"He wishes." I say, careful to keep my tone unreadable, "And no — I live with my parents." I hold up my left wrist for all to see. So they can be extra certain, I pull my sleeve as far down as it will go. "As you can see, I'm not a Death Eater. Mum is only because of her association with Dad — she doesn't go out and hurt anyone, or help the others hurt anyone. The Ministry actually likes her because my father would be a lot worse if he didn't have her around to distract him."

"He lets her get away with not doing anything?" King Stuffy asks, surprised.

There is a shrug in my voice. "He lets her get away with calling him 'Tom'."

The truth, but not the whole truth. I've also heard Mum call Dad 'Puppy' and him call her 'Kitten', but only in the privacy of home around other Death Eaters.

I decide to leave that, along with the part about them being sadomasochists with hellishly high pain tolerances, completely out of my story. At Riddle Manor we have a motto: don't ask don't tell.

Happily shoving that thought and the accompanying memories aside, I continue. "My father promised not to attack Hogwarts as long as I was going there. That's why I flew up to the Astronomy Tower last night: the Dark Mark was over it and I was confused. I…I didn't realize I was in the wrong time at first."

"Oh, I remember that." Harry muses, a thin smile decorating his face, "I did think it odd you just showing up like that and demanding they stop that nonsense. I couldn't decide if you were brave or stupid."

I have to laugh. "Well, if this were the future, I could have cleared them out a lot faster. They wouldn't have dared attack me, and they'd know their lives could depend on what I told my father. Not that you weren't Hell with a wand yourself, Harry, once you got out from under that cloak. Remember those Death Eaters at the end of the stairs?"

Harry nods fondly. "Yeah. Voldemort must have been desperate when he let them join — I barely even had to try to petrify them."

King Stuffy is quick to add "We found Greyback's body on the grounds. Your work, Cain?"

My smile slips. This joker will find any way to paint me with suspicion.

"He was trying to rip out my throat. I had to defend myself." I state matter-of-factly.

King Stuffy's eyes narrow, giving him the appearance of distrusting weasel. "Which spell did you use?"

"Does it matter?" I ask, keeping my tone tactful in spite of my word choice.

"It really does. An eyewitness says you blasted him with lightning. Lightning strong enough to knock him _through _the ramparts. The body we found was completely singed. This same eyewitness also says your Expelliarmus can knock a wand legendary lengths, and you can cast it nonverbally."

Eep. Not good. I reach out with telepathy, limiting my recipients to Draco and Snape. (( Cover me and I'll cover you. I've got something to tell you later on in private. ))

They don't reply, naturally, but Snape's face lights up with surprise, and I realize I haven't communicated with him this way before. Probably startled the socks off him.

"I can throw a tiny bit of lightning," I confess, "but I think it more likely the fall killed him."

A lie — there's no way a charge that strong couldn't have killed him. He was dead before he hit the ground. But if the people around here knew just how powerful I really am I would have a hard time interacting with them in a productive way. Bad enough I'm Voldemort's son — they don't need to know I'm capable of lightning that can kill. Thankfully the Death Eater King Stuffy is talking about didn't see that the lightning came from my hand.

But Harry and Draco might have.

I hope they are good at keeping secrets, because if I stay in this time period much longer they're bound to learn a few.

"As for the Expelliarmus…I'll admit I'm a bit gifted magically. The power of some of my spells is well above average, and yes, I can cast a few silently." I might as well admit to at least some of my power, because unless I learn how to control the strength of my spells miraculously fast there's no way I'm going to be able to hide the fact that I'm a wee bit special. My Lumos is so blindingly bright it hurts my eyes, and the eyes of anyone else in the room with me, and my Stupefies kill small animals. That's two of the most common spells right there.

As stupid and inconvenient as it is, certain spells of mine are almost always overpowered while the majority almost always work at regular strength, or the strength I choose.

_Almost always _is an important distinction here. I flooded a classroom once when an Aqua Eructo of mine that had always done what it was supposed to in the past suddenly acted like Niagara Falls and shot out a lake's worth of water in a very short space of time.

Dad says it's because my powers haven't matured yet. My brother went through the same thing when he was growing up; by the time he died at seventeen years of age he had pretty much conquered the problem.

Before long, I know, I will be able to control my magic as well as Dad, but until that day comes it's always a moment of truth when I cast a spell.

King Stuffy's frown doesn't lessen. A seasoned Auror, he is suspicious of anything that doesn't quite fit right. "How well above average?"

"Enough to do the things you heard about." I look him directly in the eye. Rodolphus says I have a steely gaze that makes me seem much older than I am. I think he's right.

King Stuffy averts his eyes to the side, still frowning but looking a little less cocky than before.

"Oh, do be patient, Solomon." a plump woman with a kindly face framed by frayed gray hair says, "It must be quite a shock for him getting ripped out of his own time like that."

"Indeed." McGonagall says, still looking at me in a light of wonder, "Tell me, Cain, how are you going to get back?"

Everyone leans in closer, anxious to hear. One of the House ghosts — Nearly Headless Nick — floats to the edge of the circle, curious. Save the blaze of activity in the background, silence reigns.

"I don't know." I admit, frowning a little, "The portal that got me here was created using the Fangs of Quetzalcoatl. Dad was looking for them right before I got grabbed and thrown into this year, whatever year this is — "

"1996." Harry supplies.

I do the math. "Wow. Fifty-four years." I sigh. "Even if I found those fangs, I wouldn't know how to use them. Gods' magic works differently than ours." Though my next words are meant for everyone, I focus on McGonagall. "I was hoping someone here might know a way to send me back."

McGonagall's face falls. She glances to her company. "Anyone here know a way to help young Riddle?"

Silence. A few people shake their heads or make other gestures to the effect of 'no'.

"I would say Time-Turner," the tiny guy who spoke earlier suggests, "but none of them go that far."

A large, thickly-built man who most certainly has giant blood in him scratches the beard on his chin. "Er, I dunno wot yehd do. I surpose yahs could ask Dumbledore once 'es up fer visitors."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione begin to whisper amongst themselves, but before I can catch any of it McGonagall is talking again. "Severus? Any suggestions?"

"Not unless he can find the fangs and figure out how to use them." Snape says in that perpetually cold voice of his, "What was your father going to do with those fangs, I wonder?" He stares straight at me, silently cueing me to answer.

I see no harm in telling them. "He wanted to go back to ancient Egypt and steal The Book of Curse."

Snape's eyes glitter with interest. "I've never heard of such a book."

"You wouldn't have. It's pretty much a god thing. My father somehow found out about it and decided to add it to his private collection."

"Then he would have had to have known how to use the fangs," Hermione reasons, "they'd be useless to him otherwise."

"I don't think he did." I say, but my tone is stained with uncertainty.

"Well if he didn't, then who did?"

Good question. "I don't know."

Hermione isn't ready to let me off the hook. "It _had_ to have been someone." she stipulates, "Probably an enemy of your family if he or she just tossed you in blindly without a way back. Think — who else knows about the fangs?"

The scent of gooey warm cinnamon rolls reaches my nose.

Tempting, but it'll have to wait.

"Harry and Draco for sure. Also Ron."

"Maybe one of them?" Hermione ventures, biting her lip gently and casting a sidelong glance to Harry, who appears deep in thought.

I shake my head. "Even if all of them knew how to use the fangs perfectly, none of them would intentionally strand me in the past."

"Are you sure about Draco?" Ron asks, eying him suspiciously.

"Hey!" Draco bristles, "I — "

"Quite sure." I interrupt, killing the feud in its infancy, "We're related."

Draco's eyebrows raise. "Really? How?"

I have to be careful here. In case my presence is impacting the future, I don't want to screw things up even more by revealing too much too soon. It is advantageous for Draco to know we're related, as it will make him easier to deal with, but I can't tell him I'm his grandson. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "Close enough that you would care."

I am pleasantly surprised when, instead of prodding, Draco's whole face lights up as though he just scored a perfect 'O' on an exam.

"Bellatrix!" he declares suddenly, eyes brimming with excitement, "You're Bellatrix's son!"

"Wha — oh false! False!" I say with vigor, wrinkling my nose at the very idea. "As much as Bellatrix would have loved to have been my mother, Dad never really cared that much for her. She died months before I was born anyway."

"She did? How?" Draco's inquiry is innocent. Ironic, since he's the murderer.

"Killing curse."

My vague answer irritates him. "Yes, but who threw it?"

"I wasn't there."

"Then how do you know it was a killing curse?"

"A friend told me."

"But he didn't tell you who did it?"

"It happened in the middle of a fight with Aurors. It could have been anyone." Another lie — in truth it was a battle between Death Eaters and Deathbusters; I don't think any Aurors were even there. But it isn't a good idea to tell people who they'll kill.

The owls are flying in with the post now — I search for Sharpbeak.

Remember I'm in the past.

Feel like an idiot.

Promptly return my attention back to the crowd, hopefully before anyone notices my mistake.

Draco doesn't say anything more, but I can tell he is unnerved by this latest revelation. A worried, curious frown mars his face.

McGonagall clears her throat. "Well then, that being the case, Cain, you are welcome to stay at Hogwarts for the time being. I'm sure Dumbledore can help you once he's well enough, but all the same I'll send word to friends of mine who may be able to help. If it was possible for you to get here, it should be possible for you to get back."

Not quite as good a prospect as I would have liked, but a sliver of hope is better than nothing. I smile courteously. "Thank you. Your kindness is much appreciated."

The friendly plump woman who rebuked Solomon earlier offers me a toothy grin. "Oh, you rascal, what did you expect? Hogwarts never abandons a student in need — even if that student is from the future!"

"And the son of Voldemort." Solomon coughs quietly, making his feelings on the matter perfectly clear.

McGonagall ignores him. "You may help yourself to breakfast," she nods in the direction of the food-laden tables, "I'll be along with some papers for you to fill out in a minute."

Breakfast! Now she's talking! I haven't had anything to eat since noon yesterday.

"Thanks. Don't mind if I do." I turn and head straight for the Slytherin table.

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><p><strong>AN:** The gods introduced two new terms to the wizarding world. These terms have come into common usage in Cain's time, which is why he incorporates them into his thoughts and speech. They are:

**mage** — A witch or wizard. Gender-neutral term for magical people.

**shade** — A dark witch or wizard. Gender-neutral term for magical people who like the Dark Arts a little too much. If they are not out-and-out murderous, dangerous, malicious people they are at least of extremely shady or questionable moral fiber.


	5. Snape Gets Suspicious

**A/N: **_The use of both British and American terms and phrases, where you see them throughout this story, is deliberate. Cain's grandmother was born and raised in America, and some of the way she talked rubbed off on those closest to her, ie; Wicca, and, to a lesser extent, Draco and Cain. _

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

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I choose a seat far at the end of the long bench, close to the House point hourglasses and the main door. A few older boys — Sixth and Seventh Years by the looks of them — are scattered around my spot, talking to each other in excited low voices. They don't notice me until I start to sit down. Then several heads jerk in my direction at approximately the same time.

I don't care.

I grab a plate and pile cinnamon rolls, apple wedges, oatmeal, and strips of bacon on it, all the while aware of the strange looks I'm getting.

Conversation, of course, is inevitable.

"Hey! What's he doing here?" a pudgy-faced boy with short brown hair grumps.

He is either stupid, hard of hearing, or tragically blind to everything going on around him.

"Don't be a stupid git," the black-haired boy sitting next to him scolds, "That's Cain Riddle!"

I take a bite of cinnamon roll.

The pudgy-faced boy stares at me dumbly, removing all doubts I may have had about his intelligence. He squints his eyes as if I were really hard to see. "Uhh…who's that again?"

His buddies gape at him in disbelief.

I don't blame them.

"You twit! That's Voldemort's son! Where have you been this morning? Didn't anyone tell you? It's been all over the school!" The young man sitting across from him is incredulous.

Pudgy shakes his head, reminding me of a confused bulldog. "Uh-uh." For someone who's just found out I am the son of the wizarding world's greatest enemy, he is amazingly okay with it. He turns his attention to the task of shoveling strawberry gelatin into his mouth, not a care in the world.

The young man — a Seventh Year with unnaturally red-orange hair — scoots closer to me. Once he's close enough to reach out and touch me, he speaks. "Hello there. Name's Amos Nagelkerke." He extends his hand and an overly-zealous smile.

_What the hell_, I think, _making friends can only help me_. I take his hand with my right to shake. Watch with amusement as he stares at my left wrist as though he were expecting to find a skull-and-snake tattoo.

"Nice to meet you." I say.

Amos laughs, releasing my hand. "You know you're awfully polite for a Slytherin."

"Well I don't see any point in being unnecessarily rude to everyone."

Amos nods half-heartedly. "Yeah. Yeah maybe you're right."

"Only maybe? Think of it logically; if you're rude to _everyone_, then no-one's going to like you, and no-one will want to help you when you find yourself in a bind. Not to mention the fact that you'll be very lonely."

Amos gives me a funny look. "True. But we're Slytherins, so it only matters if we're nice to other Slytherins, right?" He laughs.

I don't answer.

The bacon was delicious. I snatch some more.

Amos's laughter dies away. He pauses for a moment, unsure of what to say next. A few other Slytherins press in around us, and he gives them a muted dirty look. He doesn't like it that our conversation can't be more private.

The black-haired boy from earlier is now directly across from me. "So, what's the future like? It must be _so_ wicked being Voldemort's son!"

"The future's pretty swell. At least, _I_ think so. It's very different from this timeline from what I've gathered: there are more mage cults, for one thing. And yeah, being Voldemort's son has some perks, I won't deny it. But there are some less-fun parts about it too. Sometimes I think maybe the bad parts outweigh the good."

There have been times when I've thought that, but not recently. I have to watch what I say lest I sound too pleased with being around my father.

Dad has always cautioned me to mind my tongue, and for good reason. With the power I'm likely to attain when I get older the two of us have a good shot at actually conquering wizarding Britain, even with the other Fen and Harry making life difficult.

The chunky blonde girl sitting next to the black-haired boy studies my hands carefully. "What kind of wand do you have?" she asks.

"Twelve-and-three-fourths-inch Alder. Phoenix feather core."

Amos's smile seems forced. "It didn't come from Fawkes, did it?"

I look him straight in the eye. "No."

He is beginning to annoy me. There is something about him that I just don't like. I think he seems more like a rat than a snake in terms of mannerisms and personality.

He diverts his gaze elsewhere, and I turn away, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Not bad, but I would much rather have some unicorn blood. If I have to stay in the past much longer I'm really going to miss it.

Blondie opens her mouth to say more, then shuts it again as McGonagall sweeps over, a few papers, a fine white-feather quill, and a jar of black ink in her hands. She sets these next to me, careful to avoid the clutter on the table.

She seems…distracted. Worried. "Here you are, young Riddle. You come to us in such unusual circumstances, and I know there's probably much you can't or shouldn't tell us, but fill these out to the best of your ability. If it turns out that we can't send you back right away we're going to have to decide where to place you. You said some of us are still around in the future — do you have any preferences? Obviously your father is out of the question."

"I'll have to think about it." I admit. It occurs to me that I haven't thought much about who I'm going to stay with if this ends up being long-term. Perhaps I should. The Fangs of Quetzalcoatl are probably my best bet, but I can't rely on them. Even knowing where to find them, I don't have even the faintest clue how to make them work, and there are probably unpleasant consequences to using them incorrectly.

_Still_, I tell myself, _someone around here could surprise me by knowing something useful, or maybe we could get ahold of a helpful god_.

Shoving my dishes aside, I take the papers.

McGonagall nods all too seriously. "Hand them back to me when you're done. I'll be either in the hospital wing or my office. Ask a peer if you don't know the way." She hurries off.

Weird.

Maybe Dumbledore isn't so well after all?

I have no time to ponder, however, as a hand falls solidly on my shoulder, giving me a start. I look up to see the pale, frowning face of Severus Snape bearing down on me.

"Riddle. What we discussed earlier. It _can't_ wait. Lives hang in the balance."

The way he said that…

(( Is it Dumbledore? )) I ask privately.

He gets that same comically-startled expression he got earlier when I first spoke to him this way, but this time it is short-lived. He nods, his black eyes betraying nothing. "There's more. Come to my office."

"Alright." I get up and grab my papers, pen, and jar of ink.

"Is something wrong?" the blonde girl wants to know, staring at me as though I am a potentially dangerous animal.

"Many things are wrong." Snape says flatly, turning and leading the way.

I follow behind at a brisk pace — he's in a hurry. All around is a cacophony of intense chitter-chatter about last night's attack, Dumbledore's illness, and my arrival. As we drift by, silent and cheerful as ghosts through a cemetery, I listen in on several conversations.

Fear.

Uncertainty.

A feeling that no-one is safe anywhere.

These are by far the biggest themes. Some kids actually dread the idea of leaving a public setting, feeling that there is safety in numbers. Others want nothing more than to be at home with their loved ones. Still others believe that Dumbledore will rise above his condition like a phoenix from the ashes and save everyone. Some see my arrival as lucky, others take it as a bad omen. A few who listened in on my story are asking where the gods are. No-one is in very high spirits. Even Peeves seems subdued.

As we cross the viaduct I notice two girls — a Hufflepuff about twelve years old and a Ravenclaw who looks maybe a year older — leaning near the edge of a bridge many yards off.

They would be surprised to learn that I can see and hear them as well as if they were within arm's length.

"There goes Snape with Riddle." the Hufflepuff observes, smiling a little as her eyes fix on me. I look away so as not to creep her out. "What do you think he wants with him?"

"Probably in trouble already. Slytherins can't behave." the Ravenclaw guesses in a disdainful tone.

"Aw, come on. He's pretty nice for a Slytherin. And You-Know-Who's son."

"Ugh, don't tell me you believe all that rot about him being the Dark Lord's son. Seriously, Sheena, I thought you were smarter than that. He probably just invented it all to make a name for himself."

"The teachers seem to believe it," Sheena argues, "and anyway, if he's not from the future, where did he come from?"

"I didn't say he wasn't from the future," Ravenclaw huffs, "I said he's probably not who he says he is. And there's no such thing as gods, or ambrosia — "

"But before coming here I didn't believe there was such as place as Hogwarts, or that pegasi were real. Just because you haven't seen something doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

Snape opens the big wooden door ahead, and the girls begin to argue.

I stop concentrating on them and cease to hear their conversation.

My hearing is selective and only as good as I want it to be at any given time; I can zero in on people whispering from a kilometer away, or I can make myself practically deaf. My vision, likewise, is adjustable — when I have it at its keenest I can see well enough to read the headlines on a newspaper being held up from a distance of around a kilometer and a half. My sense of smell is less extraordinary, but can still be better than the average person's if I so wish it.

These abilities are not unique to me. All of the Phenomenals have them, and the wizarding world has come to call them 'Fen senses'. Naturally, when we have them at or near 'full-throttle', so to speak, we're very hard to surprise.

However, I don't use mine very often because doing so for more than a few minutes at a time drains my magical energies and makes me feel headachy and cranky. I don't know if the adults have the same problem.

There isn't a soul about in the tower-room save Snape and I. Even the portraits are strangely quiet.

We descend the familiar spiral of stairs and reach Snape's office in no time. I am not at all surprised to see that Draco is already in there, pacing the floor anxiously like a caged animal. Snape ushers me in first, then shuts the door swiftly behind us. "_Muffliato_."

"There you are, bloody time-traveler." Draco greets, his tone halfway between a snarl and something civilized, "Before we go any further, how is it that you can talk in my head?"

"It's called telepathy." I say, moving over to the bookshelf along the left-hand side of the wall, "And I can't really explain how I 'got' it — it just developed in me on its own last year."

"Riddle, the remedy you and Potter gave Dumbledore won't save him — its effects will be temporary. The poison he drank was too potent."

Great. Just perfect.

A defeated sigh escapes my lips. "Well, you can't blame me for trying."

"Yes we can!" Draco snaps, the fear in his voice only thinly veiled with anger, "Thanks to you and your lightning, and your Super Expelliarmuses, and…whatever you did to Snape…Dumbledore survived. And whether you think that's good or bad, the fact remains that your father is going to torture or kill me and my family. He ordered _me_ to kill him!"

"He did?" That's surprising.

"Yes! And even if Dumbledore dies now it's still not going to change his —"

"Draco, that's enough." Snape fixes his sights on me, and I slowly set McGonagall's supplies down. "What we do now will hinge heavily on your answers." His eyes bore into mine like live coals.

I stifle the urge to look away: doing so would be a sign of weakness, and unbecoming for a son of Tom Riddle.

I wonder what Harry, Ron, and Hermione are doing? I'd promised them answers, too. It would be more convenient to get everyone together in the same place, but Snape isn't going to let that happen. If I even hint that I might be trying to give him the slip it could get hairy.

Best to just give him what he wants for now. "Alright."

Snape wastes no time. "First, is Dumbledore around in your time?"

"I honestly don't know. I'd never seen him before last night."

"Not even in portraits or pictures?"

I shake my head. "No."

"But you had to have heard mention of him, right?"

"Yes. The name does ring a bell, but I can't remember how it was significant. Might just have been that I heard he was a past Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Snape appears thoughtful. He crosses his arms, regarding me sternly, but with no real malice in his gaze. "How about the Malfoys? Were any of them hurt or killed around this time, that you know of?"

"No. Not until years afterward, and I don't think it had anything to do with my father at all."

Near the big office desk, Draco exhales a tiny breath of relief. Still, he doesn't allow himself the luxury of thinking he and his family are completely out of the woods just yet.

It's so weird seeing him like this; this Draco's so much jumpier than the one I'm used to. They may look almost the same, but they sure don't act it.

While I'm noticing this, Snape continues. "Your magical power is exceptional," he says in that same slow, calculating, measured tone, "easily equal to Dumbledore's, perhaps even stronger. To already be able to cast spells nonverbally, and to toss out a spell which, though it was the same as mine, cut _through_ mine to strike me anyway, are quite amazing feats for a boy your age." He begins walking towards me, and twinge of unease settles in my stomach.

Silly. I know logically that he will not try to harm me, but there's something about his voice, his _presence_, that gives me a feeling of impending doom. I guess I never noticed it as much in the future because we were so used to each other, and he didn't have to rely on me for information.

"Even being gifted magically, such skills would take time to master. Years. Decades. Perhaps even longer for some of them." He stops directly in front of me. "You're an anomaly."

"A _what?_" Draco gushes, clutching the corner of Snape's desk a little too tightly.

"It means that our friend Cain here isn't just 'gifted'. He's extraordinarily powerful. It's the only way someone so young and inexperienced could control such potent magics by will alone. And think…for all he can do now, he'll be able to do even more with age. The amount of raw magical power one receives is part hereditary, part luck. There's always been a debate about how big of a role each plays, but I don't believe even a ridiculous amount of luck could have boosted his power this high. Such a thing is unheard of." Snape pauses, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Which leaves heredity. But even if he inherited all of his father's magical potential plus some from luck, that still wouldn't explain his current abilities." His eyes narrow with suspicion. "I want to know why you have this power."

Oh boy.

I hate it when they're nosy _and _perceptive.

I decide it will be too dangerous to out-and-out lie to Snape; if my answers don't satisfy him, he can always use legilimency. Since I'm not an occlumen, that would be disastrous. "I probably inherited most of it from my father. Whatever resurrected him also gave him a power-hike. He is much stronger than he was before."

Draco gives me a funny look. "And he _still _can't take over the wizarding world? Or did you lie about that?"

"I wasn't lying. There are others."

"Others with that kind of power?" Snape muses, "Fascinating."

He's a second away from using legilimency on me, I can tell. _Note to self: take up occlumency._

"There are four altogether," I clarify, "Each one significantly more powerful than what my father is right now. The wizarding world took to calling them the Phenomenals because of their phenomenal magical power, but in my time most people just call them 'Fen' for short. They can communicate telepathically from as far as fifteen kilometers away, throw super-powered spells from both hand and wand without saying a word, disapparate directly to any place on earth without having to worry about splinching, break through any form of magical barrier they like so long as it wasn't created by another Fen, heal instantly from all but the most serious of wounds, disapparate other people without going with them, and turn into any ordinary or magical creatures they want in any combination of colours and patterns they choose while retaining their human minds." I take a breath, then continue, "Not all of them are skilled legilimens or occlumens, but they can all hear thoughts to varying degrees when they try to. They are also very good at inventing their own unique spells and curses which only they can use."

A general, good-enough description for the circumstances at hand. Hopefully it will be enough to satisfy Snape.

Snape's eyes widen almost imperceptibly with surprise; his expression takes on a peculiar tone.

Draco stares at me incredulously. He blinks a few times, taking it in. "So, say one of these Fen threw a killing curse at someone, and they threw their own in, you know, self-defense, and they hit each other. You're saying the Fen's killing curse would cut through theirs and hit them anyway?"

"Exactly. They would have to throw two of their own very quickly to counter it. Or they could just move out of its path."

"Suppose two Fen threw the same kind of spell at each other at the same time?"

"Then they would either ricochet off each other or cancel each other out."

Snape is intrigued, but is that a shadow of fear I see flit across his face? Or simple uncertainty? So hard to tell. No wonder nobody ever knows where they stand with him.

"Your father," he says slowly, quietly, "can he throw killing curses silently?"

"Yes. So can the others. The most important thing to remember about the Fen is that they can do almost every spell nonverbally, and it doesn't make much of a difference to them whether they have a wand or not."

Draco snorts. "Sort of like you then."

"No. Believe me, it makes a difference whether or not I have a wand."

"I think Greyback would disagree."

So he _did_ see that the lightning came from my hand.

I sigh. "That was an emergency. Yes, I _can_ cast magic from my hands, but it isn't easy for me and I don't have much control over it. The magic tends to do what _it_ wants rather than what _I_ want. If I want to get something done right, I use my wand. And even _then_ I don't get a guarantee, as I'm sure you know from your own experiences."

Again, Snape stares directly into my eyes.

Again, I must resist the urge to show weakness. _My god_, I think, _not even a Phenomenal yet and _already_ he has such a commanding presence_.

"Interesting." he remarks, "_Very_ interesting. So your father is one of these Phenomenals. I wonder who the other three are? And how did _they_ come by such power?"

I remain silent. This conversation is quickly heading in a dangerous direction. The more they know, the more they want to know. I can't tell them everything. I can't risk Snape using legilimency, but if I defend myself he'll be all the more determined to do it, and I can't keep petrifying him. Obliviate is out of the question. All I can do is keep away from him until I can get back home.

_I have to at some point_, I reason, _otherwise I would create a paradox_.

Or would I?

Perhaps I would only create an alternate timeline. A horribly-wrong-and-not-at-all-fun timeline.

Never have I felt so alone. Suddenly home seems so very alien and far away, and I miss it terribly.

"Look," I breathe, breaking free of Snape's hippogriff-glare, "You'll find out soon enough what the future brings — you're both alive and well in it. I can't give you specifics without jeopardizing everything. Just trust me when I say it's a future you won't want to screw up."

With my left hand I grab for McGonagall's supplies. My right dips for my wand, just in case.

Can he sense my unease?

I find no answers in his calm, almost emotionless façade.

I start to edge towards the stairs…

"Legilimens!" The word comes brutally fast.


	6. Mind Trip

**Chapter 3  
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_**FLASH!**_

I'm sitting on the floor in the central living room of Malfoy Manor, surrounded by multitudes of only the finest moving magical toys, books, and games. It is my fifth birthday and I'm overjoyed to be getting even more presents so soon after Christmas.

Mum comes up, smiling, looking beautiful as always, and wraps me in a warm hug.

Then there is a whoosh of displaced air, and now Grandma Willow and Grandpa Draco are standing in the room, each laden with _even more _presents! My friends, who had been watching me unwrap their presents as they munched happily on Mum's specially-made brownies, cheer.

"Gramma! Grampa!" I yelp excitedly, wriggling free of my soft mother.

They flick their hands and the presents float gently down to the floor.

"Happy birthday!" Grandma greets, reaching out and grabbing me into a hug once I'm near. "Boy, you're growin' like a weed! An, exceptionally cute, happy-type weed." I pull free and she smiles warmly.

"And he has the appetite to match." Mum says, coming up and patting my head. She offers me a fresh chocolate frog, still in the box. I hastily remove the package.

"We have a fine grandson." Grandpa declares proudly, "So why hold back? C'mon, let's show these kids how Fen party!"

He waves his hands in great twirling motions in the air and streams of vibrant, multicolored sparks erupt out of his fingers. In thick clouds and ribbons they swarm, filling the air like tiny lightning-bugs, winking in and out of existence on a whim. Then he points a hand at me and fires a bolt of brilliant gold magic, which swirls around me like a writhing serpent as it drifts up and over my head.

I look in a mirror and see that it has taken the form of a magnificent princely crown with gorgeous, sparkling gems that change color.

Pretty! I love princely, shiny, glittery things!

The light of the room dims so that his radiant magic provides the only light. Another burst of power from his hand and a small green dragon made of pure magic appears in the air. It flies over to my friend Scot and alights on his shoulder, dipping its slender snout close to his ear as if to whisper secrets.

Now Grandpa holds both of his hands out and close together. He clasps them in on each other, then pulls them apart swiftly. It is as though a tiny supernova has occurred. Colorful globs of energy explode outward and hang in the air, indifferent to the flashing sparks around them. As we watch in amazement, they begin to shift and take forms.

The biggest glob — a gold one with tendrils of green swirling through it — splits into two. One side forms a great dragon with sparkling green eyes and moving green markings. The other half assumes the shape of a big cobra which swiftly lashes out and swallows a freshly-made red mouse whole, giving its golden 'scales' a fiery red luster. The dragon opens its mouth in a silent roar and makes for the snake, which slithers through the air with the fluid ease of a fish swimming through water.

Other animals emerge: a crimson and black tiger with flaming eyes; a blue and white phoenix; two playful ferrets of blue, violet, and honey-yellow; a silvery-white unicorn; and a green and black cat. All glowing with the hypnotic blaze of embers from a fire. All running, pouncing, trotting, flying, and moving through the air, going as high or low as they want, acting with a strange semblance to real animals.

My friends gasp in wonder and delight.

"Oooh, pretty." Mum notes, the colors dancing in her eyes, "But what's a birthday party without cake and ice-cream?" Pulling out her wand, she points it to a wall and utters a spell.

Instantly part of the wall vanishes to reveal a hidden room: a room in which a long table full of cakes, cookies, pies, candies, ice-cream, and every good drink imaginable awaits, flanked on all sides by plates, glasses, silverware, and candles.

Grandma raises a hand and the candles lift high off the table, their wicks igniting in the process. Their flames are every major color, even black!

A squeal of joy escapes my throat as I rush in, not caring that I have chocolate frog smeared all over my mouth, charging for the seat closest to the huge white cake with black and green frosting. I slip into the chair with eager anticipation, barely noticing my guests as they speed to their seats.

The green dragon lands atop my cake without disturbing it and cocks its head to the ceiling, exhaling a jet of heatless red flame.

Mum comes in next, walking leisurely, trailed by my grandparents.

"Hmphf. Draco, you big showoff." Grandma admonishes lightheartedly, giving my grandfather a playful little shove.

"Hey, if you have it, flaunt it." Grandpa purrs, sounding far too pleased. He wiggles the fingers of his right hand back and forth and the little dragon on my cake breathes an even bigger jet of fire high into the air. Instead of fading into nothingness the flames change into letters that spell out the words '_Happy 5th Birthday Cain_!'

I'm in Heaven. This is…this is ace! Bloody brilliant. The king. And a million other things people say when they really love something.

Mum is at my side now, and she hits the cake with a spell that slices it neatly into separate pieces. I grab one, and she hands me a glass filled with a silvery liquid which I recognize instantly.

"Unicorn blood! Thank you — oh _thank you_! It's been a long time since I had this!" I squeal with delight. I drink it heartily, savoring its sweet taste.

"Wicca, must he?" Grandma says, sounding upset for some reason.

"It's his favorite drink." Mum replies casually, "And it's not like _we_ kill them. Tom has a minion who takes care of that. So — no curse on us."

"I guess we're going to have to get used to it." Grandpa says a bit grumpily, "He's got too much of bloody Tom in him."

"Mom, you want to pour out the fizzing juice?" Mum asks Grandma, gesturing to a pitcher full of red fizzing punch.

"I'd be happy to." Grandma takes the container by the handle. "And…oooh! Do I smell fresh-baked cookies?"

"Made them myself, muggle-style." Mum smiles. "I hope you like them. I saved some for Tom, too. We're going to have another celebration tonight, just the three of us."

Grandpa only frowns and shakes his head, and I start in on the cake, thinking how wonderful it tastes, and wondering a little at why I never see my father and grandparents together.

But I'm having the time of my life now, and I'm sure that tonight will be just as fun.

Only my fourteen-year-old self sees Snape in the doorway looking on in restrained amazement, his eyebrows raised and his mouth hanging open very slightly in a comical little 'o'.

_**FLASH!**_

I'm ten years old, trotting through the hot sands of Egypt with my father. The fierce noonday sun beats down on us unmercifully as we search the shifting sands around the base of a great pyramid for a small black plaque.

"It must be around here somewhere. Keep a sharp eye." Dad says as he approaches a large swell. He strikes a hand forward and it flies apart, forming a loose cloud that the wind blows towards my face.

I instinctually cover my eyes and nose and plow forward to the side of the giant pyramid. My free hand touches rough, scorching sandstone, and I pull it away instantly, swallowing an 'ouch!'.

Lowering my hand, I dare to open my eyes.

Dad is digging with his hands in the unforgiving white-tan sand. He seems frustrated, but if he's feeling uncomfortable being shirtless with hot black dress-pants and shoes on, he doesn't show it.

I'm dressed in light summer clothes, but they're too much.

It's hot.

So hot.

Sweat drips off me by the buckets.

Still, I know, I must show no vulnerability, no discomfort. If my dad can handle it, then so can I. I won't embarrass him with my weaknesses.

Even so, I wish I was a creature more suited to this climate. I remember reading somewhere about desert rodents who could handle the heat. It sure would be nice to be one of those…

Suddenly I feel as though I am being dropped off the top of the pyramid itself. The ground rushes up at me at breakneck speed — I can't stop!

I open my mouth to call for help, but the only thing that comes out is a shrill squeak.

I land softly in the sand, which now strangely doesn't feel so hot.

I feel…odd.

I glance down at my hands to see that they are no longer hands but little fingered paws. My face twitches and I see long, white whiskers. My ears have migrated up the sides of my head and feel much bigger than before. I turn my head to examine the rest of my body and see that it is coated in short, sandy-brown fur. A long, sparsely-furred tail with a tuft at the end extends from my spine.

I've turned into a desert rat!

It's not the first time I've morphed; once, when I was eight, I turned into a black cat with uneven green 'socks', a small misshapen green diamond off-center on my chest, and a splash of green on my left lip. That was my first time, and I'd been deliberately trying to turn into a cat.

Afterwards I learned to master the form and turn into a small collection of creatures: assorted birds, rodents, snakes, rabbits, dogs — nothing big.

But this is the first time I've made the change unconsciously.

I stare ahead into an endless sea of sand-granules as large as rocks. They tower in around me in dunes so high I cannot perceive anything over the edges but a bright cerulean sky.

I have lost track of my father. I don't know which way I am facing.

But at least now I don't feel so hot.

I start digging. Further down it will be cooler.

"Cain? Cain where are you?" Dad's voice booms like thunder over the parched, ever-moving ground.

So, he's noticed I'm missing. Heh. Thought it might take him a bit longer, as engrossed as he seemed in finding the mystery object.

I try to say "Over here!" but all that comes out is squeaking.

Seconds later a massive body the size of a mountain steps over a dune, blotting out the sun and sky. The desert rat part of me screams to run and hide, but I'm not afraid; it's only my father. The behemoth kneels down on his knees and stares at me.

"Is that you?" he asks, his voice much quieter than before but still as loud as a trumpet blasting in my ear.

I can't answer with words, so I nod my head 'yes' vigorously.

He lowers his hand next to me and I jump on it. Lifting me to eye-level, he awards me a thin half-smile. "Looks like you have a talent for shapeshifting." His smile slips. "But a _desert rat_?" He makes a face, shaking his head in strong disapproval, "Why be a prey animal? If you wanted a form better-suited to this environment, why not a sidewinder? Or a falcon? If you'd done this at home any one of my snakes would have eaten you up before I had time to command them not to."

_I wouldn't have done this at home for just that reason_. I think, staring into critical red eyes. My nose and whiskers twitch with a will of their own.

"I'm glad to hear it." Dad says, reading my thoughts. His hand descends to the ground. "Why don't you turn back and I'll cast a cooling spell on you, hmn?"

Ok. That sounds like a plan.

I launch myself off the soft, cool hand and land gracefully in dry sand.

Dad backs off a few steps.

I focus my thoughts on forming a mental picture of my image, my _human_ image, and the next thing I know I'm shooting towards the sky, everything around me shrinking exponentially. The other changes occur so fast I don't have time to register — I'm simply a human boy again.

A human boy in a scorching wasteland.

Dad flicks his wand at me and the refreshing wave of cool, crisp air feels like Heaven.

"Will it go away?" I ask, praying the answer is 'no'.

"Not until I end the spell." Dad's sights shift to the pyramid. Mild annoyance sets in. "Well," he says calmly, "they didn't say it wasn't _underneath_ the pyramid." He turns back to me and one corner of his mouth is turned up smugly. "Pay attention to the charm I use. You'll learn it in your first year of Hogwarts." He points his wand solidly at the pyramid. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

A bright bluish burst of magic jettisons out and strikes its target. The ground shakes violently and there is a horrible, grinding CRUNCH! Then the entire pyramid rockets off its base like the top flying off an erupting volcano. It shoots up a good hundred yards before Dad finally stops it. He lowers his wand and cuts off the flow of magic holding the megalithic structure up.

To my surprise it stays there, floating perfectly still, casting a long and odd shadow across the desert.

"It'll just…stay there?" I marvel.

"Yes."

"And you aren't worried muggles might see it?"

"They won't. I've made this entire area invisible to them for a radius of eight kilometers in every direction. And if they get too close my barrier will kill them instantly." He heads straight for the lip of the fresh pit, and I follow, naturally curious.

The large square indentation contains several levels of depth, each infused with numerous shaft and passage openings. On top of some of the levels are precious jewels, old furniture, bones, pottery, loose shreds of fabric, and mummified animals.

Dad frowns.

Then, suddenly, his whole face lights up. He holds out his hand and black square half the size of a sheet of paper flies up from somewhere in the general direction of an area I hadn't been looking.

When it's in his grasp I stand on my toes and strain to look at it, but Dad is too tall and all I can make out are the glossy, mirror-like surface and a few gold symbols. It must be bad news, though, because Dad's frown gets deeper every few seconds.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's a plaque that gives the location of a shard of the Kyser crystal. Unfortunately it seems Horus got paranoid and hid it. Which means it could be anywhere, even in another dimension. There's a clue here, but it's so vague it could be interpreted a thousand ways." He thrusts the plaque at the ground.

Hard.

The shiny surface reflects the sun right into my eyes, nearly blinding me. I quickly pick it up and tilt it to a less glaring angle. Whatever kind of rock it's made of, it's heavy and feels more like rough glass. I cannot read any of the weird pictures and symbols so elegantly depicted in gold. I don't know how my father can.

Beside me, Dad is fuming. "Damn riddles!" he growls, clenching his hand into a fist, "I liked it better before I knew gods existed. They think they're _so_ superior just because they can hide in other timelines and dimensions. If I ever catch one, I'm going to make him wish he _could _die! All they can do is play mindgames."

All along Snape has been standing beside me, perceivable only to my fourteen-year-old self. I sense he feels my wonder and curiosity as intensely as if it were his own. He is ready to move on to the next memory, and I am powerless to stop him even though I try.

He is searching for a memory of himself…

_No! _I yell silently, _Stop! You're _-

_**FLASH!**_

It's my first year at Hogwarts, and the Head of Gryffindor has just broken up the fight between me and Tobias. As she leads him away, hopefully to an unpleasant and painful detention, I feel the ominous presence of another teacher behind me.

Whirling, I find myself facing down a tall, imposing man with a hooked nose and a rather pallid appearance shrouded entirely in darkness from his black robes and clothing to his greasy black hair. He looks around forty years of age, but I know who he is and that he is much older.

"Something tells me you're going to be sorted into Slytherin," he says frostily, "that's my House. Make sure you keep that temper of yours in check or you're going to find your transition into this school difficult." Telepathically, he adds (( In other words, don't rise to Potter's bait. You look as bad as him when you do. Yes, he's a little toerag. But there are other, far more effective and less conspicuous ways to deal with him.))

"I know _you_," I exclaim, "you're Snape, the fourth Phenomenal!"

"Indeed. And technically there is no fourth: Willow was first, Draco and I tied for second, and your father was third. I believe we've made acquaintance before, though you were probably too young to remember."

"I remember seeing you a few times on trips to town. Mum said you were her favorite teacher. Grandpa likes you a lot too."

Snape gets an odd look on his face. "I remember them," he says, flinching just a little, "Your grandfather was one of my better students, but I shudder to think what kinds of 'medicinal potions' your mother concocts. And her performance in Defense Against the Dark Arts could be described as dismal at best. It's for the best that she married your father. She's much safer that way." He straightens. "The first time I saw you up close you were four. Your mother was out shopping with you in Hogsmeade. You both were about to enter a candy shop when Harry Potter burst out of it. He moved in to have a better look at you and you hid behind your mother's leg. Your eyes turned red. Harry laughed, said he wasn't a monster, and gave you a chocolate frog. It must have been your first, because when you opened the package and it leapt out onto your arm you screamed and shook it off. Harry petrified it for you, but you were already running towards me. You stopped, took one look at me, and hurried straight back to your mother. I came up and spoke with her for a few minutes while Harry tried to win back your trust. She said you were used to strangers and couldn't figure out why you were so fearful today. She introduced us, but you were quite young, and more interested in candy."

I smile wanly at the thought: I hadn't remembered that encounter, though I knew from Mum that had been my first meeting with the infamous Harry Potter. I'd forgotten it'd been my first with Snape, too. I'd seen him on and off over the years since then, but we hadn't interacted and I didn't know much about him beyond the facts that he was an ex Death Eater, a close friend of my dead great-grandfather Lucius and Grandpa Draco, a teacher at Hogwarts, and one of the Phenomenals. His personality was harder to gauge, with some people swearing he was the Devil incarnate and others saying he was a somewhat shady but overall harmless person. My father oscillates between hating him and wishing he had him back as an ally. He always said that Snape was intelligent, fearless, and very skilled in the black arts. '_If I had him at my side, nothing could stop us from taking over the wizarding world. Not Willow, Draco, and Harry put together. But I don't, so I'm just going to have to wait for you to come of age. Then we'll go in together and fix everything. You'll see. It'll be a much better world_.' he told me one day.

So apparently Snape is smart and dangerous, or at least has the potential to be dangerous.

"Yeah, I don't remember that." I admit, "Just that I'd seen you around. You have your own wizard card, too. All the Fen do, except my father."

"Your father is a very unpopular warlock." Snape points out, and I detect a trace of animosity in his tone.

I frown. "I know."

The whole time we've been talking, the students swarming in and around the Great Hall have been avoiding Snape and I like dementors.

Now a girl comes rushing up, excitement and joy radiating from her like rays from the sun. She's wearing a school uniform with colors, meaning she's not a First Year, but she looks so young — she _has_ to be a Second. She isn't beautiful, but she's pretty enough in her own way with smooth, gentle features exposing only a hint of sharpness here and there and shiny, shoulder-length black hair that curls upward slightly at the bottom.

"Ouuuu…is that the new First Year you and Mom were talking about?" Her voice is frighteningly friendly and way too high-pitched, like a songbird's.

Snape softens and seems embarrassed. "Yes."

The girl brushes past his robes without the faintest care in the world and jabs a hand out at me.

Pink!

Her fingernails are glittery and _pink_!

While I'm distracted she says "Hullo and welcome to our school! I'm Abbey Snape, the Quarterblood Princess!"

"The _what_?" I gush, too stunned for words. I nonetheless grab her hand and give it a quick shake.

Snape winces. "_Abbey_! How many more times must I tell you not to call yourself that? It's juvenile and silly. Remember that discussion we had?"

Warm blue eyes tick up to him, unfazed. "Yes. I know we're not _real_ royalty, and that 'Prince' was just Gran's last name. But I _feel_ like a princess, and all my friends call me that anyway. And Mom thinks it's cute."

Snape sighs, defeated.

"She's your daughter?" I can't quell my laugh.

Snape frowns, but there's no anger there. It's more of an I-can't-believe-this-is-happening-to-me look. "Unfortunately. I suspect her mother dropped her on her head a few times when she was born."

"I'm a Hufflepuff," Abbey announces cheerfully, ignoring her father's remark about her being dropped on her head, "I wonder what House you'll be sorted into? Hey! Maybe it'll be Hufflepuff! I heard your big brother Rich was a Hufflepuff, and when he was in we won the House Cup four times!"

_Rich. _Now I'm the one who frowns.

Ever since I can remember everyone's always been talking about how great Rich was, about how powerful and selfless and noble he was. I'm being compared to him constantly, and I'm sick of it.

"I don't think he'll be a Hufflepuff." Snape says solidly. He heads over to one of the far tables over which green banners depicting partially-reared silver snakes hang.

Slytherin.

I don't need a lesson in Hogwarts's history to know that their symbol is a snake. It's kind of hard to forget with the way Dad keeps going on about it. I would be very surprised if I didn't get sorted into Slytherin: not because of my family history, but because I know you're put in the House where you fit the best, and I have far more of a Slytherin personality than anything else. I'm not pushy, reckless, and overly-social like a Gryffindor. I'm not as carefree, laid-back, and friendly as a Hufflepuff. And I definitely don't value wit above all else as Ravenclaws do, though it is a pretty handy quality to have.

Dad told me all about the Houses a couple days ago. He fully expects me to get Slytherin, of course.

"Attention everyone!" A woman's voice booms loudly above the din, "We are now starting the sorting for First Years. Only after the last is seated and the traditional start-of-term speech given will we begin the feast!"

A wild cheer goes up.

Abbey gives me a quick "See you around!" and streaks off towards the Hufflepuff table.

A few other First Years press up alongside me before I have time to move.

"So what do we do now?" a blond boy asks, wringing his tie compulsively.

"I think we're supposed to just stand here and wait until we've been assigned a House." the midget next to him replies.

I hope neither of these boys winds up in my House. Their lack of intelligence is depressing.

"What do you think?" A girl with frizzy red hair steps in front of me, searching me with inquisitive green eyes.

"I think anything goes so long as we don't sit down, cause a ruckus, or leave the room." I reply simply.

A boy from somewhere off to my right says something about hoping Gryffindor has a good Head of House, but I barely catch it. All I can think is how I really want to sit down, and how long it's going to take to get to the 'R's.

Beside me, the Snape of the past watches in wonder and curiosity. _I'm a Phenomenal? _he marvels, his world turned on its back.

(( See, I _told_ you you wouldn't want to mess it up! )) I'm not sure whether I think this or speak it telepathically. All I know is that the ground begins to shake uncontrollably, and Snape immediately withdraws from my mind.

_**FLASH!**_

Back in Snape's office. Glass vials and bottles rattle and clink violently against each other and their holders. My papers and writing equipment slip out of my hand and crash to the floor — the lid on the inkwell comes undone, spilling black ink all over. A few books and paraphernalia drop off of Snape's desk and shelves. The stone floor beneath us rocks up and down as if the earth itself were liquid. All around in other rooms people are yelling and screaming.

"What is this?" Draco shrieks, leaning over Snape's desk for dear life, "Earthquake?"

Snape and I stumble at the same time and almost fall into each other. I struggle against the bookshelf behind me and strain to keep it from falling over.

Snape scurries over to the door and grabs hold of the knob. "I don't know," he answers, sounding rather calm in spite of the chaos erupting around us, "It would be most unusual, and none of our earthquake-warning spells went off."

"Then what else _would_ it be?" Draco is live with worry. "Is Voldemort attacking full-force?"

"He doesn't have that kind of firepower right now!" I say, unable to keep that dirty little twinge of fear out of my voice, "It _can't_ be him!"

My bookshelf creaks and groans under the punishment.

Then, all at once, it stops.

There are about five seconds of dead silence.

Then the door Snape's holding onto begins to swing open, and he is forced to hastily retreat.

"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" A Seventh Year Slytherin emerges, staring at his Head of House as though he holds all the answers. Three more students try to shove their way in behind him, and from somewhere in the adjoining hall I hear a sick coughing that reminds me distinctly of a cat coughing up a hairball, only louder and more human-sounding.

"We do not yet know. Probably nothing more than an earthquake, but it _is_ odd that the warnings didn't activate." Snape starts through the door and the students blocking his path part instantly.

I follow him, Draco a breath behind.

"Are you sure _you_ don't know anything about this, Riddle?" Draco says hotly, and I can _feel_ his scowl.

"Draco, I can't cause earthquakes."

"Could a Fen?"

"Maybe. Probably. But none of them came with me, and even if one _did_ get here, what would be their motive? My father loves Hogwarts, and none of the others have any logical reasons."

Up the spiral staircase.

A girl rushing from the opposite direction misses her step, trips, and barely gets her hands out in front of her in time to save her head from cracking against cold stone. Undaunted, she rises quickly, her eyes wild with fear. "The sky!" she panics, "It's so windy, and…and this weird dark-purple color!"

Snape's pace quickens.

Out into a foyer, now out the big doors to the viaduct…

The girl was right. Outside the wind is blowing fiercely, whipping hair, clothes, and anything not weighted down around in several different directions like the inner vortex of a tornado. Thick, dark, furious clouds churn ominously in a blue-violet sky. Tendrils of white lightning slash the air.

Strange that there is no thunder.

A number of students are out on the viaduct, firmly grasping its ramparts and statues, watching the freak storm's rage.

"What's happening?" more than one person shouts through the howling wind.

A few of the younger students duck their heads and race up to hide behind Snape, who has, for the moment, stopped.

One of these, an innocent-eyed Second or Third Year, trembles. "Professor! What's going on?"

"We'll tell you once we know!" Draco says energetically, his face full of fright. Apparently he didn't care that the question wasn't directed at him.

"Get inside! _Now_!" Snape barks.

They don't waste a second in obeying.

_CRASH!_

The noise is earsplitting. Even without my Fen hearing being switched on my ears ring with it. Sounds like it came from the direction of the Great Hall.

Snape must have reached the same conclusion, because he bolts across the viaduct as though he wore winged sandals, and I have to run to keep up.

Faster and faster!

The wind lashes my bangs across my face mercilessly; I have to constantly push them aside.

The next few rooms pass by in a blur of shapes and colors. A few students pop up in my way; I swerve around them, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on Snape. The figures we pass in portraits shiver and demand to know what's happening. Snape and I completely ignore them.

At last we reach the Great Hall.

And are treated to the biggest surprise of all.

Breakfast is over and the food and dishes put away, but nevertheless most of the student body are still at the tables — some sitting, some standing — all staring in the direction of the huge front doors, which have flung open with enough force to put serious cracks in the wood. A good number of teachers and ghosts are also staring. Because, standing there in the doorway, dressed in extremely stylish clothes and a fine silver cloak which billows dramatically in the wind, arms outstretched to the sides, in all his glory, is Draco Malfoy.

_Adult_ Draco Malfoy!

And he isn't alone; my father sweeps in to his side, dressed purely in black save some green trimming. Unlike Draco he is not wearing a cloak.

_Father!_

They're here! I can go home! They've come to take me back!

"Father!" Unable to control my joy, I sprint towards him, feeling my eyes change to red.

"Cain!" Just the ghost of happiness touches Dad's face before vanishing. He seems…worried. Distressed. And not the least bit interested in my grandfather, who is one of his greatest enemies.

_Uh-oh. _I get that same sinking feeling I always get when things aren't adding up.

I reach him, and he gives me a quick, tight embrace.

I want the moment to last forever. I don't want to hear whatever bad news he has. _Please, please don't say it. _I beg inwardly.

But, of course, I know he's going to.

For a split-second, the whole world stands still. It's just me, Dad, Grandfather Draco, and an entire assembly of students, ghosts, and faculty all gathered in an enormous room. One of said students is Draco's younger self.

Dad pushes me away. Now I see that he isn't just worried, he's _terrified_. Fear digs at his fine, youthful features like a disease. Red eyes glint not with anger but true concern. The frown he wears is heavy with uncertainty. "I'm afraid things are worse than they seem."


	7. Lord Voldemort vs Lord Voldemort

**Chapter 4**

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"How much worse?" I ask, oblivious to everyone else around me, "Can't we get back?"

"Oh, getting back isn't the bloody problem." Fen Draco grumps. He stabs a finger at my father, a rather bold move for him. "Tell him. Tell him about your master."

"She is NOT my master!" Dad hisses, flicking a finger of his right hand and firing a burst of violet magic at him.

Fen Draco vanishes and reappears off to the side even before the curse hits the Ravenclaw hourglass. The whoosh of shifting air is eclipsed by the crash of shattering glass and the slamming of the main doors.

Fen Draco cocks an eyebrow at my father, smirking smugly. "Where were you aiming? And yes, you're equal partners with this thing. That's why it's got you running like a dog with its tail between its legs." A flash of energy leaps out of his wand and the broken hourglass is mended to like-new instantly.

Dad starts to say something in response, but I cut him off before he's finished the first syllable. "Something's after you?"

It's a disturbing thought — anything powerful enough to send my father running for cover is truly a force to be reckoned with. Not even gods bother him.

Dad's eyes shift to the awestruck crowd. I follow them straight to…Harry. "Unfortunately," he mutters, "and worse — it's going to stick to this timeline. So we can't leave just yet. If we do, this world and its future are in peril."

_What?_

(( What's going on? )) I demand privately, (( This…thing that's after you. Why does it want you and how strong is it? ))

Now I am the one who trembles. I don't like the word 'peril'. Especially when it's describing the state of my family, home, and future.

_That deal._

Of course!

The being that resurrected Dad! Maybe it's…she's…finally arrived for payment.

_Uh-oh._

(( I'm about to get to that.)) Dad replies in kind.

Harry is coming forth from the sea of dumbstruck faces and tightly-clenched wands, elbowing and shoving his way to the front where necessary, Ron and Hermione not far behind like twin shadows. Off in the entrance of the hallway leading to the dungeons, Snape and Young Draco watch from a safe distance, completely spellbound, right where I left them.

Fen Draco catches Young Draco's eye; a sparkle of extreme pride flickers through his irises as he regards his younger self.

Young Draco's already-wide eyes expand all the more, and he mouths something that might be 'my god' as he studies his future self, suggesting to me that Fen Draco said something to him telepathically.

Figures.

My grandfather was always a showoff. Not that my father isn't, also.

(( Attention everyone! )) Dad roars in public telepathy, and I know that everyone on Hogwarts grounds hears his voice exploding like thunder louder than their own thoughts inside their heads, (( If you're not already in the Great Hall, come here at once. That is, if you value your lives. Something _big_ is coming. Something dangerous and unbelievably powerful. ))

Eeep.

My stomach sinks. This sounds like the apocalypse.

Everywhere people jump up, turn, look around, or give a start. When you're not used to telepathy it can be quite jarring. Some of the teachers move on up closer, eying my father with deep suspicion, readying their wands just in case.

Futile. If Dad wished to attack, not the whole school put together plus Fen Draco could stop him before he killed dozens of people.

A murmur of unease electrifies the assemblage as Harry finally clears his peers.

"Harry! Stop! You don't know what —" Hermione pleads, grabbing desperately at Harry's robes.

"Lord Voldemort." Harry cuts in, a flare of anger coloring his overly-serious tone.

"What are you _doing_?" Ron frets, "Get back here before something really, _really_ bad happens!"

(( Harry's safe. )) I assure Ron and Hermione privately, (( He was crucial to my father ever being resurrected with the power he has now, remember? ))

As I am saying this, Dad responds with "Harry. You recognized me." He shoots an icy glare at me.

I wilt. (( Sorry. I didn't know I was in the past and…and they saw me use some of my powers. I also said a few things I shouldn't have. ))

Harry crosses his arms, but doesn't gaze directly into Dad's eyes for more than a couple of seconds. "Yeah. Your son was attacked on the Astronomy Tower by Death Eaters. He didn't realize he'd been sent back in time and let a little slip. When he realized we knew, he shared some more out of desperation."

Dad's glower is worse than Severus's. "The _Astronomy Tower_? What were you doing up _there_?"

"I saw the Dark Mark and —"

"Nevermind. I guess none of that matters now."

"Damn straight." Fen Draco says, leaning his back against the Hufflepuff hourglass and scowling at my father.

People are pressing in from all over now. Adults and children alike fill every available space, crowding against each other, living personifications of fear and confusion. Faculty and older students take the front, closest to our two newest visitors, while younger students are herded to the back for safety. Even the ghosts seem wary, despite their having little to fear.

Young Draco has finally plucked the courage to start approaching us — he's only a quarter of a table's-length away now. Fen Draco probably encouraged this; both Dracos are as brave as lions when they _know _they're safe, but in the face of real danger even Fen Draco falters and flees. He would not normally allow my father to get so close to him, which means we _must_ be in the midst of an apocalypse.

The double-doors swing open once again, taking me by surprise. It's raining now, and in torrents. The halfbreed and some students hurry in, dripping wet, their hair and clothes a mess.

Outside the wind's howl has reached a deafening fever-pitch. So far as I can see, though, no trees have been uprooted. White sizzles against tumultuous blue-violet. The storm has only grown stronger.

A small group of students — the oldest is probably not older than fifteen — hesitate in the threshold, letting the heavens pour in behind them.

"Hurry up and get your sorry arses in here!" Dad barks, "Or I'll Cruciate the life out of you!"

That makes them jump. They practically race in, the whole while staring at the confrontation between Harry and my father to the point where it's amazing they don't run face-first into the back of the person ahead of them or trip over each other. The foot of the last girl has barely cleared the doors before they swing shut with a resonating THUD!

"What do you want?" Harry asks, and I know that Dad summoned him telepathically.

The newcomers mill in around the sides, giving us a wide berth, their eyes and ears fixed to the scene.

"Is Dumbledore still alive?" my father asks, not seeming to care that Harry, also, is one of his enemies.

"No thanks to you!" Ron snorts. Hermione puts a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

Harry fidgets nervously — even without being able to read minds it isn't difficult to see his dilemma: now that Dumbledore's in the clear, does he really want to put him in potential danger again by telling a much stronger Voldemort from the future that he's still breathing? "For the time being…" he trails, face flush with insecurity.

"He drank the poison you had in a horcrux cave," I supply, drawing an unhealthy amount of attention to myself, "I tried to cure it using one of Snape's potions, but it might have only delayed his death."

"_Of course _it only delayed his death," Dad says, his voice swelling with pride, "Snape can't brew an effective antidote to that. No one can. But I can fix it." Crimson eyes snap back on Harry. "Bring the old man here."

"_What?_" Harry exclaims, shocked, "Why would _you_ want to help Dumbledore?"

"That is not your concern," Dad growls, "Just get him over here. You might as well do it willingly."

(( He means it. )) I tell Harry silently, (( If he wants Dumbledore, he's going to get him. ))

Harry purses his lips, but whatever he was going to say dies on his tongue. Frowning, he concedes. "Alright, but if you do anything to —"

"_Now_!" Dad snaps, "We don't have all day!"

"Better listen to him, Potter." Fen Draco adds, "If you knew what was coming you'd shriek like a little girl and curl up into the fetal position."

Ignoring the jest, Harry turns and plunges back into the crowd amidst gasps and warnings to be careful. Several other teachers volunteer to help bring Dumbledore out.

(( NO! )) Dad's telepathy is like waves crashing against a cliff, (( Harry goes alone! Anyone tries to help him and I'll show them what _true_ black magic is! ))

(( He created the storm outside. )) Fen Draco elucidates, his voice almost casual (( Ask yourself: is it really worth it? ))

No one moves.

I aim my next words at him. (( You and Dad grudging allies? We're really in dire straights, aren't we? ))

(( Yes, we bloody-well are. This thing…whatever 'she' is she can command hordes of ridiculously powerful monsters, reanimate the dead, travel through time by her own will, and gift people with magic twice as strong as mine. Makes your father over there look like a sodding muggle magician. ))

(( Why didn't the other Fen come with you then? )) I ask, barely able to believe what I'm hearing.

(( We didn't know! )) Fen Draco's telepathy has taken on a frantic, fearful tremor that reminds me so strongly of Young Draco out on the Astronomy Tower. While outwardly he appears relatively calm and in control, he's trembling just beneath the surface; I've never heard him sound so scared as an adult. (( Your father was furious with Loki for using you as a guinea pig, so he forced him to tell him how to get you back. Your mother wanted to go with him — was deadest on it — but of course I didn't want to risk losing _even more _family, so at the last moment I emerged from hiding and Flippendoed her aside. Tom was already halfway in by that point, and he must have thought I was Wicca because he grabbed me with magic and pulled me in with him. Next thing we know we're in a field somewhere twenty kilometers away, and there are these things coming after us, and…Cain! It was like we weren't even Fen! Most of them were partly immune — ))

(( How much do they know? )) Dad's voice overlaps my grandfather's in my head.

(( Everyone knows that I'm your son from the future and that you were resurrected in that body with more power than you'd had before. )) I admit, catching the tail-end of something Fen Draco is saying about winged monsters, (( I was mum as to _how much _stronger you were. Mostly, I tried to keep a low profile. I didn't know when I'd be coming back. Even _if_ I'd be coming back. But that's it. They don't know about the Fen, or…anything else. ))

No point in telling Dad what he doesn't need to know. I'm not painting a target on Snape's head, especially since I don't know how vital he was to our future turning out the way it did. Dad may decide that messing with him is too risky, or he may decide to nip a future rival in the bud.

Fen Draco has finished his description of supermonsters now, and, sadly, I have missed most of it. Now he and his younger-self are face-to-face, staring straight into each other's eyes.

Weird. That's how it looks: weird.

Now that they're so close, I see that Fen Draco stands about two or three inches taller and has hair that's about that much longer, and more loosely styled. He looks approximately six years older than Young Draco. The physical differences end there — excepting, of course, the fact that one has a dragon tattoo instead of a skull-and-snake. But Fen Draco's Deathbuster Dark Mark is hidden by the right sleeve of his robes, and no one who didn't already know it was there would ever guess that he had it.

He appears to be speaking to his younger self telepathically, and I can only guess at what he's saying.

McGonagall emerges in my line of sight from within a throng of some of the other teachers, including the short and overly-friendly grey-haired woman, the midget, and a tall, gawky man with medium-brown hair and a tense scowl. "What is it that threatens us?" she inquires, never taking her eyes off Dad's hands.

Dad appears anxious. "Hold on a minute," he says quickly, on the verge of panic. He disappears in a flash of green fire, the familiar short-lived burst of heat radiating out from the spot he'd occupied.

"But the anti-apparating barrier!" a student from somewhere behind me gasps.

"Means nothing to him." I say, wondering what in the world he could be doing in a time like this.

A fuss rises up from the back of the room. I turn to see Dumbledore coming out of the main hall, Harry close at his side. He can walk, albeit weakly; his eyes are unfocused and a bit misted over. Harry has his arm and is guiding him to the side of the room, where he'll be able to reach my father with the least hassle. Legions of students and faculty draw back to give them room.

Snape watches almost passively, the faintest impressions of concern tugging at his features.

(( Where do you think my father went? )) I ask Fen Draco.

(( I don't know, but he won't be gone for long. )) he assures me.

"I hope this isn't a trick of your father's!" Hermione surprises me with her outburst. She and Ron are both giving me the evil eye.

Not that I can blame them for being suspicious: they'd be stupid if they weren't.

"Why would it be? I know my father isn't famous for his kindness, but when he says he's going to cure someone that's generally what he does. Not that he makes it a habit…"

"Then he's had a complete personality change form the Voldemort we know and loathe." Hermione huffs, unconvinced. Then, appearing to think it over, she softens. "Come to think of it, he _does_ seem different. And I'm not just talking about his age, looks, or increased power."

Ron brightens as though he's just solved a ridiculously hard puzzle. "Yeah!" He elbows Hermione gently. "You said it yourself: Voldemort has the emotional range of a teaspoon. So why's this one acting all weird?"

There is a shrug in my voice. "Having a full soul'l do that to you, I guess."

"But that's impossible," Ron remarks, "isn't it?" His eyes race between me and Hermione.

Hermione chews her lower-lip — must be a habit of hers when she's deep in thought. "I think so. We already destroyed a few of the horcruxes. How would he…" she shakes her head, "it doesn't make sense. He couldn't have _that_ much of a soul left."

"Funny thing about souls," I interject, "you _can't_ destroy them. Destroying a horcrux doesn't destroy the part of the soul it's linked to, it merely destroys the soul's connection to the world of the living. The soul itself is indestructible."

Ron crosses his arms. "How do you know?" he says hotly, meeting my gaze.

I return his glare with equal intensity. "Because if it weren't true then I would have never been born. And, I know how this is going to sound to you, but my father isn't as heartless as you think."

"Tell that to the people he's tortured and killed." Ron scoffs, brows furrowing.

Touché.

Dad _does_ torture and kill people. A lot.

What can I say to that?

"Well, there _are_ things he cares about." is all I can manage.

"Yeah. Pureblooded dominance and ruling the wizarding world." Harry says glumly. He and Dumbledore have reached the Dracos.

"Thanks. I can take it from here." the old headmaster says, coughing lightly. All eyes are on him as he straightens, regarding both versions of his Malfoy student with the same resilient twinkle in his eyes I noticed out on the Astronomy Tower.

Young Draco backs away, face reddening with shame, but Fen Draco doesn't flinch. Quite the contrary, he seems rather happy to see his old headmaster; while outwardly his face takes on the guise of condescending arrogance, his eyes sparkle with a joy I have rarely seen in him.

"Future Draco," Dumbledore offers him a fragile smile, "You seem happy to see me."

"Yes…well, it's been a long time." He covers his mouth and clears his throat, even though it probably doesn't need clearing. " A _really_ long time."

"How is the future?"

"It could be a _lot_ better." Fen Draco grouses, glancing at the spot where my father had been standing, "For starters, it would have been a big plus for everyone if Tommy-Boy hadn't —"

He is cut off by a blinding blaze of green flames flaring to life in the very place he is scrutinizing. The accompanying heat-wave washes over us. This time, however, when the flames subside they unveil _two_ travelers. One is my father. The other is the ugliest man — wait, is that even a man? — I have ever seen in my life.

Almost exactly the same size as my father, he is so bald his head would shine if not for the sickly, putrid grey coloring of his gaunt skin. Dark veins are visible in the worst ways possible all over his head and face. He has no nose. In its place are two vertical slits that form a shallow, bottomless 'v'. Deeply-sunken red eyes smolder with hatred from beneath hairless eyebrows.

I jerk back, barely stifling a cry. _Disgusting! He looks like a red-eyed corpse! _I wrinkle my nose, probably making a very unpleasant face.

My father has a hand on the thing's shoulder. Almost instantly after they have appeared the hideous creature throws it off and whirls on him, causing him to hop back.

"_Voldemort_?" Harry and a few others gasp in unison. Hands flash for wands.

(( Don't try anything. )) Dad warns loudly, (( _I'll_ handle this. ))

"What _is_ that thing?" I choke in disgust, thankful for the heavy black robes cloaking his body in obscurity, "Why did you bring it in _here_?"

The thing raises his withered left hand to my father, and I can't tell from this angle but it looks like he might be holding a wand.

For some strange reason Fen Draco bursts out laughing.

Suddenly there is an explosion of faint blue light, and the creature is on the floor — highly P.O.'ed, but none the worse for wear. He did have a wand!

_Did_ being the key word, as it now rests in Dad's right hand. Pale, white, and shaped like a sharp bone, it looks remarkably similar to his own wand…

Spitting mad, the creature levitates to his feet with blinding speed that reminds me of Greyback and tosses out his left hand, throwing some kind of silent purple curse.

A fully-encircling shield of darkly-colored magic appears around Dad in the bat of an eye. The curse hits it and vaporizes.

The creature's face contorts into a revolting grimace of pure fury that makes in all the more repulsive. "IMPOSSIBLE!" he bellows in a raspy, hissing voice. Even though he is surrounded by people, he does not take his sights off Dad. "You can't be…"

"Oh yes I can." Dad says, frowning. "Let me share something with you." He holds both wands far out in front of him, one in each hand, and begins walking towards the bald-headed thing.

Those wands…they look — no, they _are _— identical!

_Uh-oh. _The horrific truth bears down on me like a runaway train: this shockingly ugly man-beast, is, in fact, my father's past-self! My stomach twists with nausea. It's depressing to see that my very existence depended on such an unsavory creature.

Reaching forward with his left hand, Dad uses an unspoken charm to jerk up his sleeve, revealing the red-eyed Master Mark.

Voldemort — the ugly version — gapes, and I am treated to an unflattering view of his forked tongue and stained, corroded teeth.

Eeuw.

"Ever wonder what your father looked like _before _becoming a Fen?" Fen Draco sniggers.

Of course. Why else would Dad bring this guy in? The entity that resurrected him is out for his blood, and if his past-self dies before he is supposed to it could wipe his present incarnation out of existence. And me along with it. Still…

"Cain, you knew I was inhuman." Dad says, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

"Yes, but you never told me you looked like _that_."

Voldemort whips his head around to pierce me with those fiery eyes. Strange. Although they look exactly the same as Dad's, they seem much crueler. More hateful. But that's to be expected; after all, this version of my father has only one-seventh of a soul and no memories of my mother and I. The last time he had a seventh of a soul — and this was _after_ he'd returned from the dead in his current body — he tried to kill my brother before he even had a chance to be born. In such a state he would happily kill me, too, if given a chance. I don't kid myself otherwise.

Dad's frown deepens. "Can you blame me? This was not one of my shining moments."

After giving me a molten glare, Voldemort's glance sweeps over a stunned Harry, hanging-in-there Dumbledore, about-to-wet-himself Young Draco, and a relatively unconcerned Fen Draco before coming full-circle to his future self. Then, quite unexpectedly, he hisses something in Parseltongue at my dad.

Apparently, Dad didn't like whatever he heard. His expression hardens. "You disgust me." he sneers.

"And _you_ disgust _me_!" Voldemort howls with rage, flinging himself at my father and ripping into his right arm with his fingernails, ruthlessly tearing one of the wands free.

Dad recoils in surprise, but shows no reaction to his pain. "STOP!" he roars, and Voldemort freezes stock-still as surely as if he had been hit with Petrificus Totalus. As if driven by a will of its own, the stolen wand leaps out of the hand that grasps it and flies swift as an arrow back into my father's.

Dad's arm is red and bleeding, and I watch as he regards first it, then his past-self's unharmed duplicate. Then his gaze drifts to Voldemort's face, stuck tight in a demonic growl.

All at once four long gashes slice their way across the sickly flesh, cutting deep. Blood gushes at an alarming rate, quickly covering the slit-nostrils.

The exact same pattern appears on Dad's face an instant later, with the only difference being that his blood has a nose to pour over.

"Mmn." Dad utters quietly, showing, as I have come to expect, absolutely no discomfort in response to his face being ripped open. He actually licks up some of the blood that makes it down to his mouth, and I wonder if he is doing it to impress whoever happens to be watching with a good enough view or simply out of habit.

If it is the former he's doing a good job: Harry and his friends, along with Dumbledore, both Dracos, and all the nearby students and staff certainly seem…disturbed.

Myself, I don't know whether to feel proud or embarrassed. I'm a little of both, I guess.

"That's interesting." Dad notes.

"_Interesting_?" Fen Draco shoots, "More like demented. If you like pain so much why don't you disapparate to that place we were before and let Mistress Darkness beat on you?"

Dad is annoyed. "That's _not_ what I meant." Then, aspirating on phantom blood, he waves a wand in a small circular motion at Voldemort, and the gashes — along with the blood — vanish, leaving no visible indication that they were ever there in the first place. Shifting the wand in his left hand over to his right, he moves that hand swiftly over his arm and face, leaving them healed and unblemished a second later. A snap of his fingers stirs Voldemort back into animation.

The semi-Fen Dark Lord immediately notices he is again lacking a wand, only this time the shadow darkening his face is more of fear than anger.

"Quit embarrassing us." Dad says savagely, "Go to sleep."

Wandless and unprepared, Voldemort drops where he stands.

Dad's hand lashes out. A flash of yellow light erupts from his palm, and a pillow appears just in time to catch Voldemort's head. "I don't need a concussion." he explains, making sure everyone knows that he didn't do that out of the kindness of his heart.

(( You really hate yourself that much? )) I ask, curious as to how drastically his views of himself have changed over the years.

(( I hate what I _was_. Not what I have become. Just trust me when I say that you do not want to split your soul into fragments. Ever. There are all sorts of dire consequences that will make your immortality not worth it, your looks going down the toilet being just one. )) As he is saying this to me, a jet of black magic streams out of Dad's wand like water from a fountain and encases Voldemort in the same translucent black barrier that he'd protected himself with earlier.

Dark Shield. That's what Dad calls this power. It is like a super Protego Horribilis that fully covers the body for minutes on end, protecting against everything but Fen-powered torture, mutilation, and killing curses.

I am very eager to learn it, but Dad says I don't yet have the knowledge, skill, and magical reserves to pull it off without risks to my health. He underestimates me. But what can I do?

"Whoa," a Gryffindor Fifth or Sixth Year pipes up from a few feet behind and to the side of Ron and Hermione, "I didn't know anyone _could_ beat Voldemort so easily!"

My father sends him a harsh look. "You'd be surprised at what I can do." Quickly, he turns to Dumbledore.

Harry instinctively places himself between the old man and his archenemy, wand drawn and ready to go. "I don't care how powerful you are, you —"

Dad doesn't wait for him to finish. "If I _wanted_ to kill him, he'd be dead right now. And there would be nothing you could do about it. Out of my way."

At the words 'out of my way' a shot of soft blue magic streaks from his wand and knocks Harry several yards parallel to the wall, much to the amusement of the Dracos.

Sideways Depulso.

That one I can do. Most of the time.

A flash of red light! One of the teachers has thrown a spell — my attention was so occupied I didn't hear the words.

Dad spins like greased lightning and catches the magic with an on-the-spot barrier vaguely resembling Protego from his right hand. The tiny shield deflects the magic back to the sender and vanishes.

"Stupefy!" The midget intercepts the spell with another of the same.

Other teachers prepare to cast more…

"Stop!" Dumbledore commands, sounding very authoritative despite his weakened state.

The faculty lower their wands — some more reluctantly than others. McGonagall and the midget in particular appear distressed.

Having had the desired effect, Dumbledore begins to approach my father. "I sense Tom is being genuine. Please do not try to protect me; you'll only be putting yourselves in danger."

Dad catches the teachers' gaze, a violent twinkle in his eye. "He's right. I've already shown you lot far more patience than I would under normal circumstances. Don't push your luck, or it's going to run out."

Hmm. No reaction to the forbidden 'T' word. That's interesting. I thought for sure he'd at least rebuke Dumbledore for addressing him by that name: he really hates it when people do that. Back at home only my mother can get away with calling him that without being Cruciated — or worse — on the spot.

Fen Draco stares intently at the teachers.

More telepathy that I'm being left out of.

Harry's back on his feet and next to the Dracos now, miffed but unharmed.

There is an eerie silence as Dumbledore reaches arm's length of Dad. His body and long, white beard sag with age and the half-heartedly-countered effects of the poison, but his spirit blazes brightly as ever through his indomitable eyes and the contours of his face.

"What great power threatens us?" he asks coolly, "And why?"

"I'll get to that in a moment." Dad replies in an air of annoyance, "First I need you fighting-fit." Tucking one of his wands away, he aims the remaining one at Dumbledore. Tendrils of sparkling green magic issue forth from the tip and break gently on the old wizard's chest, rippling outward to completely engulf him in a soft shamrock aura.

Dad's voice is half whisper:

"_Poison that weakens you, _I_ weaken _thee.

_Freeze in place and listen to me_.

_From this body you I banish_;

_Erase all effects and promptly _vanish_!_"

Now the green hue lightens and begins traveling in a swift current around Dumbledore's body.

I recognize this spell as well: Dad uses it to heal all injuries located anywhere on the body. I've never seen him use it on anyone besides me, Mum, and himself. It is extremely powerful magic, and finishes healing Dumbledore almost instantly — if there was anything left to heal after the poison's effects were removed — ceasing to flow from the wand and winking out of existence the moment it's done.

Well.

Dumbledore should feel like a billion galleons _now_.

And indeed he does. Stretching to full height, he flexes his arms out and seems to glow with life. His face, too, has changed; his flesh has flushed back to a healthy color, and his lips no longer have that deathly bluish tint. Unclouded but otherwise unchanged eyes fix on my father. "Thank you. This is much more agreeable. Though I must admit that I never thought I'd see the day you'd help me."

Dad's face twists by way of disgust. "Me neither."

"He can do that?" Harry says in a small, flabbergasted voice. He turns to the Dracos and stares at them as if he's never seen them before.

Fen Draco answers with a nod.

Young Draco forgets to scowl at his Gryffindor rival, his expression at the moment nearly identical to Harry's.

So funny!

I remember Father and Draco telling me back when I was very little how normal mages reacted to their more unbelievable feats when witnessing them for the first time. Both described it as mostly a mix of pure shock and fear, with some wonder thrown in on lighter occasions when they weren't using their magic to hex or curse someone or something.

I'm seeing a lot of that here. No one seems able to believe their eyes and ears; in fact, most people look like they don't know what to think at all.

"Now that _that's_ over with…" Dad flicks his wand, and when he next speaks his voice is amplified so that everyone can hear it loud and clear. "I know you are all wondering what could be so earth-shatteringly dangerous as to merit such a grand entrance and flashy show as this. Time is not our friend, so you're going to get the abridged version. First, in case you are an imbecile, yes, I really am Lord Voldemort. Everyone here has already seen and heard more than they should, so there's no point in trying to hide it. In the future, I was killed, only to be resurrected later by this…this _presence_ that spoke to a piece of my soul with a feminine voice. All I knew about her back then was that she called herself 'Genesis'. She offered to restore me to life in my nineteen-year-old body and give me an insane level of magical power, more than any witch, wizard, or god has had _ever_. In exchange, all I had to do was perform whichever task she would ask of me at some point in the future. Naturally, I accepted. Years went by and I never heard anything from her, and after a while I stopped thinking about her. I made efforts to prepare for the inevitable retaliation, but it never came." He pauses, taking everyone in.

"Not long after, a dim-witted god threw my son into a time portal without telling him how to get back. So I went in after him as soon as I was able and ended up in Thraeph's Meadow surrounded by strange monsters unknown and alien to our world. They attacked immediately, and, as it turns out, most are either partially or fully immune to magic in addition to possessing some of their own. There were too many to handle all at once, so I —"

"We!" Fen Draco injects fiercely, "I was there too! Quit trying to sweep me under the rug — I did just as much fighting as you."

"Yet you did less damage." Dad says factually, moving his wand away from his mouth and giving him a dangerous eye.

Fen Draco's upper lip curls with contempt, but he says nothing more.

My father moves his wand back in place and continues his story. "I summoned the storm and cast spells of disorientation and anti-apparition. As I was leaving the area I noticed a peculiar sight in the Fading Woods. It was an ostentatious white pyramid with a great eagle statue on top and Genesis's symbol glittering in gold on each of the sides. It was overgrown with long, thick vines and several foreign plant species I've never seen in any herbology book. Many appeared to be tropical. Obviously the structure is of great importance to Genesis, or she wouldn't have bothered setting an army of such formidable creatures around it. Anything she does here can only be bad for the future. At a minimum, she has three times my power. In truth I think she is much stronger than that. Her minions aren't pleasant either — they kill and eat every moving thing they come across."

"Then why isn't she here right now?" Harry asks, readjusting his glasses and sending my father a quizzical look, "If she's all that then she could just pop in here the way you did and kill you without a second thought."

"She doesn't want to kill me, Harry. She wants me to do something for her. _Needs_ me to do it for her."

"You can do something she can't?" Hermione asks, swatting some of her hair out of her face with her wand.

"Yes." Dad replies, glancing at her only briefly before returning his attention to Dumbledore.

"This task she wants you to do," Dumbledore muses, "what is it?"

"I can't tell you."

"You _can't_ or you _won't_?" Harry snorts.

Dad sneers at him. "Fine, I _won't_. But it doesn't matter what it is because there is absolutely no way in Hell I am going to do it."

"But you _could_ do it?" Dumbledore pries, "It is something within your power?"

Dad's face is rife with annoyance. "Yes, it is something within my power." he says in a highly-irritated tone, "But you of all people should know that just because you _can_ do something doesn't mean you _should_."

"Please," Dumbledore says gently, "It would help if we knew."

His mouth fixed up into a half-snarl, Dad turns and stares at the doors for a moment. Listens to his handmade storm.

I turn up my hearing and listen too.

At first, no sounds outside the usual wind, rustling, and things flying into each other reach my ears. Then, something akin to crackling, like a massive forest fire. It fizzles in and out, constantly changing in intensity.

I strain to hear more…hoofbeats. Growling. Massive shockwaves rippling through the air in a pattern too rhythmical to be the wind's work. Eerie, bone-chilling howls too high-pitched to be heard by a normal mage.

Dad is right: Genesis's forces are out there.

And they're finding their way through the storm.


	8. Uneasy Allies

**Chapter 5  
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"They're getting closer!" I exclaim, fighting my mounting anxiety. I look to my father, searching his face for signs of the plan I know he must have.

Dad always has plans. He can rise above anything.

I am not disappointed.

Turning back to Dumbledore, Dad says "He's right. At this rate we have only a few minutes before they reach the castle. They number in the tens of thousands. Draco and I can't take them alone; at least, not for long. Summon as many Aurors and fighters as you can. I'll call on the Death Eaters and force them to cooperate." A flick of his wand in a downward arc causes the air near the floor to ripple like water. A static crackle rises up. "There. So much for the anti-apparating barrier."

Harry crosses his arms: impressed, but distrusting. "Why not disapparate the whole building and everyone in it away from here?"

"Because you don't solve your problems by running from them. We can't hide from Genesis. Attempting to do so will only result in a larger loss of life."

"But this is _your _problem!" Harry fumes, "She's after _you_! If you just leave —"

"She'll wipe her ass with Future Draco and do as she pleases with all of _you_. Do you seriously think she's going to call off her army and chase me back to the future? Are you willing to gamble the lives of your friends on the groundless, blind-faith assumption that all Genesis cares about is me? She didn't put that pyramid there just for the hell of it. She intends to do something in _this_ timeline. And whether you like it or not, Harry, we _are_ on the same side right now, and I'm the strongest warrior this side has."

Dumbledore understands. I watch as he picks out Snape, still frozen in place with caution at the back of the room.

"Severus!" His voice is startlingly loud for not having been magically amplified. It makes a few students jump. "Minerva!" He glances quickly to the wall of nervous teachers. "I want you both to disapparate immediately to the Ministry and tell them of our situation. Collect as many Aurors and willing helpers as you can."

Flapping. Multitudes of wings cracking the air in full defiance of the storm's might. The strange howling is almost deafening now, and I am forced to tone down my hearing. Even so the hoofbeats are galloping thunder in my ears. Shrieks. Hisses. Groans. Growls. Genesis's army is ready to taste blood. I've never heard so many creatures sound so aggressive.

And there's still that crackling noise…I wonder what could be making it? Maybe energy fields? Electricity? Magic?

Snape and McGonagall disapparate, creating the traditional crack of displaced air.

A frown creases Dumbledore's face. He doesn't entirely trust my father, which is why he didn't go himself. Clever old wizard. The situation being as serious as it is, I don't give it long before Dad starts power-draining to keep his magics strong. Dumbledore and the others aren't going to like that.

Dad touches his wand to his Dark Mark and lifts his wrist close to his mouth. "I want everyone — and I _mean _everyone — to apparate into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this instant. I have removed the anti-apparating barrier. You will find I look and sound different. Do NOT move or speak without my permission." His tone of voice leaves no room for argument.

Still, someone tries.

"Lord Voldemort?" the deep voice of an older, baritone man calls out from the Mark distrustfully, "You sound _very_ different…how do we know it's even you?"

"Yea," a young woman agrees, "You sound so much younger."

Big mistake; Dad doesn't like being questioned.

Without a word he injects some type of red magic into his Mark. Thin cuts spiderweb across the design and over the rest of his wrist. Their edges break out into blistering welts.

"Aaah!" Young Draco cries sharply, doubling over and clutching his left arm at exactly the same time a few other students are having similar reactions.

Fen Draco lets out a sharp little cry of pain and grabs his younger self by the wrist, yanking his sleeve up and covering the Mark with his hand. A ghostly green light blazes out from under his palm, shining so brightly it eclipses both hand and wrist.

Relief sweeps Young Draco's face.

Fen Draco is equally soothed.

Dad remains unaffected, listening to the suffering of his minions through his Mark as though he weren't feeling the same pain himself. Only, he should be feeling _double_ the pain thanks to his past self also wearing a Dark Mark.

I glance to the sleeping Voldemort. His entire left arm is underneath him, so I can't tell whether it's being affected or not, but by all logic it _should_.

Yet he doesn't stir.

Either that is one hell of a sleeping spell he is under or else two Master Marks can't affect each other.

I quickly look away; I can't stand seeing my father like that.

And I am infinitely glad I don't have a Dark Mark right now.

After a few seconds Dad lowers his lips to the Mark. "_That_ enough to convince you? How about the fact that I am speaking to you directly _through _your Dark Marks? Has it dawned on you yet that only an exceptionally skilled and powerful warlock would be capable of such a feat?"

Silence.

Harry's eyes flit back and forth between me, Dumbledore, and Draco. Anxiety and concern tear at his features.

Ron scans the area nervously, not thrilled at the prospect of sharing a room with even _more_ Death Eaters.

For a brief moment my eyes lock with Hermione's, and she purses her lips as if to say something, only for frustration — or perhaps trepidation — to set in. She turns her head away.

The flock of teachers never did put their wands away, and now they hold them in a half-raised position as they ready themselves for what in their eyes must be some very unsavory company.

Dumbledore remains calm but alert.

In spite of the ridiculously large number of people present, it would be quiet enough to hear a pin drop if not for the raging storm and approaching army outside.

Wings are beating harder than ever. Hooves pound the ground with more force and less frequency. Storm must be stronger the closer they get to Hogwarts.

Suddenly 'CRACK!' 'CRACK!''CRACKCRACK!'. The air is broken violently as four Death Eaters appear in full dress near the doors. Sure enough, their robes are as black as the raven's wing just as Rodolphus said in his stories about the past. I'm not sure when they became light silver — they've been that way for as long as I can remember.

More cracking.

More Death Eaters crowding into an increasingly shrinking space. Five, eight, ten, thirteen…they keep coming, and I lose count. One appears almost touching Dumbledore, giving him a start. Two more to Hermione's right; Hermione backs away with the speed of a snake recoiling from a strike. Several end up in various positions around the House tables and in the densest groups of students, who withdraw to give a wide berth at the cost of their own comfort and personal space.

No one seems very pleased to see them. Frowns abound in spades.

Just the typical reaction non supporters have to Death Eaters. Most people don't know progress when they see it. They don't understand that we're working for the greater good, and some day when we finally take over they'll be thanking us for setting the wizarding world right.

The next few seconds contain the greatest number of cracks, after which no more appear.

There are between thirty and forty of them.

Pathetic.

Dad has well over two hundred free Death Eaters scattered throughout the world back home. He'd have even more than that if it wasn't for the meddling of the other Fen and Semi-Fen. Not to mention the Aurors and Dark Aurors, who always manage to take a few.

But then, even in this timeline Dad has other creatures and allies helping with the cause; I wonder if he has reached out to these telepathically.

Likely.

For their part, the Death Eaters appear dazed and confused. White skull masks pivot wildly this way and that, trying to locate my father. Several notice the fallen Voldemort and rush to him, only to be simultaneously blasted back by one of Dad's Depulsos.

"My Lord?" one squeaks, sounding more like a mouse than a noble and courageous Death Eater. He and his buddies pull themselves up from the floor along with the students who couldn't dodge fast enough.

"Here!" Dad shouts, shooting flaming red comets the size of snitches from his wand. They implode harmlessly after a short distance, making a sizzling noise. "I am Lord Voldemort! Ignore that pale shadow of me on the floor; I have ascended beyond a god!"

"He sure is hard on himself, isn't he?" Ron whispers to Hermione.

"Big power boost, big ego boost." she whispers back wryly.

The Death Eaters begin to crowd in around us in a loose semi-circle, butting and shoving their way past students and faculty, who shiver, shudder, glare, and grumble at the treatment.

"Does this mean we've won?" an overly-zealous individual chirps, "Who may we start Cruciating?"

(( There will be _no_ Cruciating, )) Dad says vehemently, drawing a few gasps, (( Any one of you tosses so much as a knockback jinx at any person in this room and I will fillet you alive inside and out with a curse that makes Crucio seem like a comfortable alternative. )) Then, switching back to normal speech, he adds "We have problems. An army of strange and powerful creatures is approaching. Most of them are at least partially immune to magic. If we don't stop them here they'll spread out, and there won't _be_ any wizarding world left to conquer. Dumbledore has already sent for the Aurors — they should be here shortly. DO NOT attack them or there will be hell to pay. I don't give a damn about your vendettas. You will fight alongside them and you will fight to the last man to keep this school safe."

The Death Eaters bow their heads and there is an asynchronous "Yes My Lord." in varying shades of disappointment.

"Where'd this army come from?" a heavyset man near the Dracos asks, his mask hiding his expression under deathly white clay.

"Probably a Hell dimension." Dad mutters darkly, eyes ticking over each hooded figure in turn.

"Those exist?"

"Apparently."

Without warning one of the circle races forward, hood falling back to reveal thick, wild black hair and pale skin.

It is a woman; I guess her at about thirty years of age. She would be pretty if her face wasn't irredeemably worn with the lines of a rough life and frightening with her black lips pulled up in a primal, giddy grin. I can tell before the first word leaves her mouth that something about her is off, and I know immediately that this is Bellatrix, my great great aunt.

By blood, unfortunately.

"My Lord, there is Potter, standing right there!"

I've never heard Bellatrix's voice before. Now I realize what a blessing that was: it's like a fork raking fine china. Listening to that on a regular basis, it's a wonder Rodolphus didn't end up insane _before_ he ever set foot in Azkaban.

She jabs her wand at Harry idiotically, as if she expects some kind of special reward for pointing out the obvious.

Needless to say, Dad isn't enamored. "Thank you, Bellatrix, for pointing that out to me. I hadn't noticed him standing five meters away in full view." His words drip with sarcasm.

Bellatrix is taken aback.

Harry smiles a bit, suppressing a chuckle. Dumbledore moves over to his side and places a hand on his shoulder, giving him knowing nod.

A select few of the spectators giggle quietly.

After a moment or two of awkward embarrassment, Bellatrix finally makes her mouth work. "But the prophecy!"

"No longer applies to me. Forget Harry — he's the least of our problems." He tosses out his free hand, catching the stricken witch with a zig-zagging bolt of white lightning that knocks her off her feet and sends her bowling into a group of older students, who promptly draw back and offer her no support whatsoever.

I can't help but to snicker a bit: delicious justice! I love seeing this train-wreck of a witch get hurt; she deserves to be Crucioburned into a quivering, screaming mess for her crimes against her own family. Too bad Dad's going easy on her. I wouldn't. She doesn't know how lucky she is that I can't successfully cast any torture curses yet.

"And, don't you DARE patronize me again," Dad growls, "Next time I will not be so gentle."

Gold.

A low murmur of excitement rushes through the assembly. The students were terrified before and they're even more scared now that they're surrounded by murderous Death Eaters with an army of dangerous monsters on the way. Some of the teachers and ghosts try to reassure them, but their optimism must sound forced even to them.

One Gryffindor laments on how he really misses his old school.

A Seventh Year Slytherin — one of the students who doubled over with the Mark earlier — tells his friends that they don't have anything to fear so long as Voldemort's on our side.

I hope he's right.

Bellatrix is just climbing to her feet when the first Aurors appear. There is at once a problem because room is so limited: some of them actually appear standing on tables.

"Make room!" Dumbledore commands in a magically amplified voice.

Students retreat into the halls and adjacent rooms. A few Death Eaters flinch and go for their wands, only to remember Dad's warning and stop dead. Dad uses this moment to re-cast Dark Shield on his past self before it has the chance to wear off.

The Aurors vary in appearance from anxious and confused to downright nervous. The ones on the tables leap off at the first available opportunity, undoubtedly feeling like sitting ducks raised on such a high platform in front of Death Eaters.

More apparitions.

Now there's over twenty of them.

Snape and McGonagall appear next to Dumbledore and Harry; Snape actually bumps Fen Draco next to the Ravenclaw hourglass in the process.

Scowling, Fen Draco changes into a golden crow and alights atop his younger self's shoulder.

Young Draco stares at him in pure amazement. Then, quick as that, a proud smirk takes to his face.

Crow Draco's flight and tail feathers suddenly turn bright green.

Showing off again.

"Do not worry about the Death Eaters," Dumbledore announces for the whole room to hear, "Tom and I have an alliance. He has forbade them to harm you."

"BUT" Dad adds equally as loudly "You had better not attack them or I will kill you. This is an uneasy truce, I know, but I've seen what these things can do closely and personally, and believe me, we need all the help we can get. My motivations may be different than yours, but right now our goal is the same: destroy the enemy before they destroy us."

"Why, exactly, do they want to destroy us?" a young woman with dark violet hair asks, keeping close to King Stuffy — no, _Simon_ — her fellow Auror. She crosses her arms, and the Death Eater a few paces in front of her retreats with a grunt of dissatisfaction.

Dad doesn't even bother looking at her. Instead his willfull gaze pans all across the room, making some shiver and wilt. "Because it is their nature. I don't know what they are, only that they are not of this world." He pauses. "And they're just about…here!"

In a flash Fen Draco jumps off his younger self's shoulder and flies over Dad's head to the doors. Reaching them he changes back into his human form in a lightning-strike of magic. He and Dad stare at each other intently for a few tense seconds, and I know they're discussing something they don't want others to hear.

I have a feeling I know what it is.

The flapping outside is overwhelming now: it fills the sky. The animal war-cries are so close that I don't need enhanced hearing to perceive them.

Crackling! The atmosphere itself is alive with mystical energy! Fields, lay-lines, it could be all of them! Not quite loud enough to overcome the den of the Great Hall, but unmistakable nonetheless.

"_Kecht! Keeeerchect! Preeeee!_"

What the hell is _that_?

(( What's your plan? )) I ask Dad, (( Which creatures do we go for first? Do they have any elemental weaknesses? ))

(( Just a minute, Son. )) Dad's quick, distracted reply.

Quite suddenly, Fen Draco's eyes fix on me. Gray-blue and piercing, they are full of worry. (( Good luck, Cain. )) he says bittersweetly, (( In case we don't see each other again, I…I love you. Never forget that. ))

It's the first time I have _ever_ heard my grandfather say he loved me.

I am emotional. (( _What_? What are you doing? What did Dad tell you? ))

Fen Draco ignores me. Facing the doors, he thrusts out his arms, causing them to fling open mightily and slam into the outer walls of the castle.

Rain pelts the ground outside in a fervor. Still, I am able to discern several dark specks against the clouds over the top of the courtyard roof, towers, and pinnacles.

I zero in on these, my vision becoming telescopic. I've never seen anything like them: they remind me of wyverns, being about the same size, covered in scales, and with similarly-shaped wings, but their heads are round and bulbous with short, powerful, beaklike jaws filled with only a single row of huge railroad-spike teeth. They have no eyes and probably 'see' by echolocation, which, now that I think of it, would explain why they're constantly clicking their beaks and the high-frequency howling. Two long, birdlike feet ending in four toes with razor-talons each over two feet long rake and claw at the wind. The tails are whiplike and extremely long in proportion to the rest of their bodies, tapering off into a wicked-looking double-sickle blade of keratin or chitin. They're bluish green in color with a sort of mottled underside.

The structures in the courtyard block my view, but the hooves and paws are almost upon us.

A sense of dread wells within me: it doesn't look pretty. Blood will definitely be shed before this day is over; I can only hope most of it belongs to the monsters.

(( Stay safe. )) I caution Fen Draco, knowing perfectly well that he will do all he can.

Turning his head, he responds with a nod. "Well well," he calls energetically, grabbing the front rows' attention "Time to show these bloody cretins what Phenomenals can do!" A sparkle of violent glee races through his frosty irises, complimented by a maniacal grin.

Slipping his wand back into his robes, he walks outside, and his hands begin to blaze neon blue with power. The glowing magic engulfs his hands in a matter of seconds, growing to the size of bludgers. It breaks off in streams, live tendrils whipping and licking the air to converge on each other at a point several feet away.

Beautiful.

Where the tendrils meet they turn black and expand rapidly outward: a formless, whirling blob of pure magic. Legs appear. Four of them. A long tail. The mass is bigger than an elephant and still growing. A head emerges near the top, mounted on a snakelike neck. An eruption of wings! Large wings, large enough to take to the sky. Luminous shards of white-violet light stab through the newly-formed jaws to create dozens of fearsome teeth. Below, on the feet, curved talons of the same type rupture through the ends of raptor toes. Last to appear are the eyes: two pupiless embers of the fieriest crimson.

It is a large dragon, easily exceeding the size of most living ones and roughly the size of its creator's dragon morph.

Fen Draco cuts the magical umbilical cord. His hands cease to glow.

Behind me there are more gasps of amazement — these mages have never seen any magic of this magnitude before.

Fen Draco doesn't stop to admire his handiwork; gathering his legs beneath him, he performs a magic-leap that lands him right on top of the creature where the wings connect with the shoulders. Unfazed, the dragon raises its head to the sky and opens its mouth, showing off its deadly teeth and roaring like a real dragon.

Such a magnificent magically-crafted animal. I hope one day I'll be as good as my grandfather at conjuring them.

Fen Draco stabs a finger directly at the incoming wyvern-beasts. "_Draco Signum_!"

A whooshing green blast which looks and sounds remarkably like a killing curse but isn't shoots out of his digit and travels the full kilometer to the forerunners of the swarm. Like a firework going off it explodes in their midst, forming the giant, brilliant all-green image of a noble dragon strutting its stuff as it moves its wings and head, roaring without voice, lighting the heavens with jets of fire.

The wyvern-beasts are sent tumbling helplessly every which way from the combination of the force of the blast and the cruel winds.

The big magic dragon rears on its haunches and launches itself into the air, Fen Draco perched seemingly precariously atop its back with determination and freshly-glowing hands. Because it is weightless and has only its master to lift, it is up over the towers in an instant and shrinking more rapidly into the background with each passing second.

Dad rolls his eyes. "About time," he says sordidly, and the doors slam shut on cue, "I thought he'd never leave."

"So your plan is to let Draco do your fighting for you?" Dumbledore doesn't seem to like this idea.

Neither do I.

Neither does Young Draco — he's watching the doors his future self passed through with a haunted expression, worrying that perhaps he is gaining a glimpse into his own death. Two Slytherin boys about his age edge up beside him, having quietly made their way through the circus of students, teachers, Aurors, and Death Eaters.

Perhaps it is wrong to judge by appearances alone, but they look about as intelligent as bototuber pus, and are about as pleasing to the eye.

"No," Dad's eyes follow Young Draco's new buddies, causing them to back up a few steps behind him, "I have a plan. But first I need power."

_I knew it. _I think, bracing myself for the inevitable show.

"Power? I thought you already had —" Hermione's words turn into a gasp of horror as my father lashes out with his left hand and seizes one of the boys near Young Draco with Carpé Retractum. A swift jerk of his hand and the overweight teenager is hurtled towards him.

"Goyle!" Young Draco yells, his face a mask of fright.

A hail of spells assaults Dad at exactly the moment he throws up Dark Shield: "Stupefy!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Carpé Retractum!"

"Incarcerous!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Incindeo!"

Teachers, Aurors, and a few brave students toss everything they can think of to help the kid; even Dumbledore and Harry try their luck.

All of these spells/curses/jinxes plus some nonverbal ones hit Dad's barrier and fizzle into nothingness.

Disheartened, some turn to Voldemort, only to witness the same results.

I have to wonder who threw the Expelliarmus — Dad wasn't even using a wand.

Rope will not be helpful in this case, either.

Ignoring the chaos around him, Dad presses his outstretched palm into Goyle's heaving chest and begins extracting his magic.

Goyle, wide-eyed and fish-mouthed, moans with pain.

"TOM! _ENOUGH_! YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THAT!" Dumbledore shouts. He casts a nonverbal yellow spell at Dad's shield, which, of course, does nothing.

These people are wasting their time and energy.

"Yes I do. I want to fight at full strength, wouldn't you?" Dad's hand glows white-hot with the transfer. Goyle's head lolls to one side.

"Not at the cost of a person's well-being!" I didn't know Dumbledore _could_ sound angry. It must be so frustrating for him to be unable to do anything.

The glowing stops, and Dad pushes Goyle away.

That was quick — he must not have had much power.

Dad frowns at the kid as he stumbles around the floor like a drunkard, his dazed, unfocused eyes unregistering.

"Huuuhh…" Goyle drawls.

"You might as well have been a squib." Dad says with utter disgust. He points a finger at the hapless new muggle and a blinding flash of green issues forth and hits him in the face, striking him dead. The body drops to the floor.

Incredulous, horrified gasps permeate the air. Everyone is talking at once in quick, frightened whispers or seething growls.

But now Dad is faced with a dilemma: while Dark Shield is ace at keeping magic from getting inside its protective bubble, it won't let it _out _either.

Right on cue the green flames shoot up around him and his Dark Shield disappears at the same time he does.

Another wave of heat.

I'm glad it never gets too hot.

"Where'd he go?" people are asking.

Dumbledore charges through the sloppy gathering of Death Eaters and stoops to examine Goyle, his face full of sadness and hot fury.

I pivot and begin searching the room, much as everyone else is doing. Dad will definitely not be gone for long.

And he isn't.

Roaring flames appear near the Gryffindor table, sending students scrambling in panic. Too bad for them there are too many bodies to push through at any rate resembling quick enough.

Up goes Dark Shield.

I can't see through all the squirming bodies, but he must have at least six students trapped in there with him. They don't stand a chance.

Again, spells pepper the barriers. Most people have given up trying to break through my father's and turn again to Voldemort; perhaps they hope that protecting a weaker mage will somehow make the shield itself weaker.

False.

Simon and company emerge from the inner workings of the swarm and think that, since magic isn't working, maybe they can grab him.

That doesn't work, either.

I watch in amusement as he and three or four others throw themselves at the sooty magic and are zapped back with strong currents of black energy.

And right after seeing that, _another _Auror puts his hand against Dark Shield.

Hah! Stupid, stupid Aurors.

Something grabs my shoulder and spins me around roughly. I raise my hand — and let it drop.

Hermione.

"Cain! You have to tell us how to get through that barrier!" she yells frantically, anxiety and dread weighing heavily upon her visage.

"You can't." I answer calmly, jerking free of her grasp, "He's too powerful."

"But there _has_ to be a way!"

"There is — if your magic is considerably stronger than his…" I gesture to the sleeping He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Seen "and you have what it takes to cast Avada Kedavra."

Ron is with us now, greatly upset. "You could probably do it," he gushes, "Harry said you can throw lightning from your bare hands!"

"What's that have to do with killing curses?" I ask, "Besides, I'm not nearly strong enough."

Hermione's brow crinkles, her face flushing with color. She glares at me through narrowed eyes. "You act like you don't even care! I guess you really are his son." Her words are cold. Harsh.

She starts to turn away and I lunge forward, catching her by the shoulder. "I care," I lie, "But there really is nothing we can do. I can't overpower him and I can't talk him out of it just because I'm his son. Believe me, I've lived with him all my life. He does what he wants when he wants and nobody changes his mind."

"But you don't seem that bothered by it." Ron's voice is unfriendly; he doesn't like me.

The feeling is entirely mutual — I like his future self far better than this huffy weasel.

"That's because I'm numb to it." I say smoothly, cloaking my irritation, "I was raised by Death Eaters. I see death all the time."

"Don't you ever feel bad for those people? Don't you ever try to stop it?" Hermione is sweating now — she's really getting worked up over this. Skeptical brown eyes pan my face for signs of compassion.

I give her a sympathetic look that isn't entirely forced.

She cares too much: that's her Achilles's heel. People who care too much are always getting hurt.

"Sure I do," I say softly, looking straight into her eyes, "And I have tried to stop it. Was _punished_ for trying to stop it. My father doesn't like having to tell me things twice, and to be honest I'd rather not push my luck. He's downright volatile."

Hermione's expression softens.

Even Ron lightens up a little, though suspicion has not completely left him.

Then, all of a sudden, Hermione grabs my arms and drops solidly to the floor, taking me down with her. "Duck!"

_Like I have a choice. _I think, jerking my head up in time to see a blue spell soar overhead where I'd been standing.

Who would have the audacity?

I rise off Hermione and grab my wand, ready to show whoever that was why he shouldn't mess with Riddles.

Simon stands not four yards away, arm outstretched, wand aimed directly at me.

So he wants to fight underage warlocks, does he?

Alright.

I fire an Expelliarmus.

"Protego!" Simon's barrier deflects the spell back at me.

I had been ready for such an outcome and quickly throw another to counter it.

Embarrassing. That was one weak Expelliarmus — full powered it would have ripped through that Protego with ease. Barmy power-fluxes.

A silent streak of red!

I swiftly call up my own Protego and the spell flies back to its sender, who likewise rebounds it. It hit it with Stupefy and toss another at the ratly Auror.

"What are you doing?" Harry demands.

Who's he talking to, me or Simon?

He is just out of my field of sight — I cannot be distracted to check on him.

Another red spell or curse. I throw another pathetically weak Stupefy. At this rate it's only a matter of time before Simon's luck runs out and I throw something Fen-strength.

"What does it look like?" the war-torn Auror grouches, "We need a bartering chip."

_Too bad you're not getting one, wanker._

What is _wrong _with my Stupefies today? Any other time they're a force of nature and they choose _now_ to run out on me?

Simon produces another silent spell, this one yellow in color. He's quite good at nonverbal magic.

I toss out another Stupefy, hoping this will be the one.

Yes!

My flying red spell overtakes his and strikes him square in the jaw. He collapses, out like a light. His wand spills out of his now-relaxed hand and clatters to the floor.

I want to kill him. Scumbag deserves it, and it would be my first Auror kill — Dad would be proud.

Yet I lower my wand and don't even attempt the lethal lightning.

Now is not the time. What I do here is up for everyone to see; I don't want to make so many enemies when I have so few friends.

The look Harry gives me is odd: halfway between disgust and doubt, like he can't decide which he should be feeling.

Dumbledore is no longer with him.

Probably went to try and help the trapped students.

Hermione and Ron appear at my side. Death Eaters hover around us like obedient wolves who thirst for blood but dare not attack without their master's command. The Trio's faces blanch with unease.

Young Draco sidles up next to Harry. His fearful eyes shift first to the body of his comrade, then to me. "How will we know if something happens to the other me?" His voice is almost a whisper and I can barely hear it above all the background noise.

"We won't," I say, projecting over the ruckus, "unless he chooses to announce it telepathically." My tone lightens. "But for what it's worth, Fen Draco's been dancing around dangerous territory for years now — he knows how to stay alive. Even my father can't catch him."

My words: am I trying to reassure Young Draco or myself?

"Why does your dad need more power?" Hermione meets my gaze, "Doesn't he already have enough? I mean — my god — he trounced his past self with no trouble at all, and his magical shields are impenetrable."

"He drains if he expends a lot of mystical energy all at once." I clarify, "In such a weakened state he can't perform his more powerful magics, and the ones he _can_ use are watered-down and less effective. When that happens he has two options. He can wait for his magical reserves to replenish themselves, which generally takes a few hours, or he can steal the magic from others and gain what he lost instantly. Being that we're under siege, he chose the latter."

Harry's eyes widen. "He didn't seem weak to me."

"You heard him; he just wants to make sure he stays as close to full-strength as possible. I don't blame him, but it's a shame he has to power-drain to make it happen."

"But taking their power doesn't kill them — Goyle was okay before your dad hit him with the killing curse!" Hermione.

I maintain a calm façade. "Yes. Goyle could have lived out his life as a muggle. But Father hates muggles, so…" I let it hang. They know. They know all too well.

A big, hulking Death Eater who looks as though he's been bench-pressing redwoods for the last twenty years moves in on my free side, thoroughly invading my personal bubble.

Hermione and Ron instinctively back off.

I remain planted.

"You're Voldemort's _son_?" His breath is gruff and husky.

I stare up into the deadpan mask. Wonder what he looks like underneath it. I don't know why, but as a rule most Death Eaters tend to be unattractive — even flat-out ugly.

"Yes." I answer evenly, ready to defend myself at a moment's notice.

God he's huge. Easily six-five, maybe six-seven. Twenty-two stone at least. Perhaps he has a little giant blood in him. He moves an arm, and despite all my resolution not to back down I almost recoil: he could fold me up and stuff me in his pocket like a chewing-gum wrapper.

"Who's your mother?" he grunts, harsh brown eyes piercing me from the eyeholes.

"None of your business." I will my eyes red. Watch with satisfaction as Bear Man takes a few steps back. "You wouldn't know her anyway."

Hermione and Ron are with Harry and Draco when I next look. The racket around us has dropped off to a more sane level. Still too loud, but I've heard worse.

There is a flash of green fire, heat, and Dad is at my side. Our robes touch.

I smile. It's always comforting to have Dad so close in a crisis, even if I could never tell him that.

Bear Man and several other Death Eaters stumble backwards in a hurry.

Dad extends his left hand, tiny bolts of blue lightning traversing his outstretched fingers. His expression is more relaxed, but he doesn't smile. "That's better."

At the Gryffindor table, there's quite a fuss about all the dead students. People are sobbing. Crying. Cursing in a nonmagical way. Teachers, students, and Aurors alike glare fiery daggers at my father, their faces portraits of absolute hatred and disgust. And, in some cases, pure sorrow and fear.

I pick out Dumbledore from amidst the sea of faces — he is beside himself with restrained fury. And sorrow.

What a peculiar man; I think I shall never figure him out.

Dad raises the lightning-hand and casts another Dark Shield, this one covering both of us.

(( How many did you take? )) I pry telepathically.

(( Four. Five counting the first boy. To hear them whine you would think I had slaughtered all eight trapped in the shield with me. Some gratitude. ))

(( I know. They don't know how lucky they are that they're in the past and you're on their side. ))

"Why you heartless, selfish, no-good —"

Dad cuts Hermione's rant short. "Yes, I'm all of that and then some." he says cheerfully, one corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. His tone darkens, but only a little. "You may think me cruel, but it's worth the lives of a few to save hundreds. You lose me, you lose. Period."

"But you didn't have to kill them!" Harry protests, beside himself with revulsion.

Dad tilts his head and awards him a mockingly playful half-smile. "Yes I did. They were muggles. Better dead than without magic."

"You are HORRIBLE!" Hermione seethes.

"Bloody _awful_!" Ron agrees.

Dad laughs. "Lucky for you this isn't the future or I'd show you just how horrible I can be." His eyes tick to the doors, and all hints of a smile vanish. "We'd better hurry. Draco can only hold them back for so long." He returns his attention to the mismatched quartet. "Harry, I'm taking you and Cain to Genesis's pyramid. Your shadows will probably want to go — that's fine. I have a strong feeling that that's where the secret to her destruction lies, but I can't investigate myself. I have to keep Genesis's focus away from there — it's the only chance we have."

Harry is struck dumb. His mouth hangs open a bit in surprise. "You're serious?"

"Of course. Have you ever known me to kid around?" Dad's frustration is thinly veiled.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchange worried glances. Young Draco back towards the hourglasses, not feeling very relevant in the conversation, but at the same time leery of turning his back on my father.

I'm right there with Harry and his friends — it sounds incredibly dangerous and risky. But it will also be a shining opportunity to show Dad that I can handle myself in dangerous situations.

Who knows? I might even be the one to defeat Genesis! Oh, Dad would _love_ that!

"Don't you think Draco…adult Draco, I mean…would be better suited?" Ron suggests meekly, drawing a poisonous glower from Young Draco, "You're all so much stronger…"

"Which is precisely why we must stay and protect Hogwarts: too much of the future hinges on what happens here. Certain people can _not_ be allowed to die, regardless of how much I hate them." Dad draws his wand and points it at his past self, still sound asleep. Both Dark Shields vanish. A streak of yellow-orange jets swiftly — _very_ swiftly — out of the tip of his wand and hits Voldemort's side.

Voldemort vanishes.

Why would Dad —

Wait! No he didn't — he's a mouse!

Dad hurries over and scoops him up with a speed that would put my Firebolt to shame. Covering him in his hands, he returns to me, hyper-aware of his surroundings and ready to repel any incoming curse at the blink of an eye. Now we're surrounded in Dark Shield again.

"Hmphf. Coward." someone coughs.

Dad ignores it.

"Is that a…" Harry starts.

"Mouse?" Hermione finishes, only the faintest hint of a stilted giggle in her voice.

Dad doesn't even dignify them with a glance. His left hand extends to me. The fingers uncurl to fully reveal an awake but groggy-looking mouse with red eyes coated in long, cream-colored fur.

"Oh, he's awake!" I note, and as I am saying this the cranky Voldemort-mouse bites down on Dad's palm. Hard.

"Sleep!" Dad's monosyllabic command is all that's needed to make the little animal collapse into a weird, sprawled-out slumber. "The transfiguration must have woken him up early — they normally stay asleep for at least an hour after that." He picks the rodent up by his naked, pink tail. Tiny pink paws dangle limply as he hoists him into the air.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanging gloomy, vaguely amusement-tinged looks. They'd probably find the situation funnier if five of their fellow students hadn't just been murdered while they and everyone else stood helpless to do anything but watch. For the more empathetic, that is quite the humor-killer.

"Aw, he's cute." I coo, knowing full well that will get Dad's goat.

"Shut up and take him." Dad says irritably, shoving his past self down the right pocket of my robes. "Seal."

The top of the pocket seals up tightly.

Too tightly.

As in there's no air.

With a frustrated sigh, Dad bends down and gets his fingers to work trying to loosen an area for ventilation, tugging at my shoulder in the process. But the fabric's sealed too well. Apparently — I can't see what's going on on account of the back of his head.

More jostling.

A few seconds later he withdraws, leaving a tiny rip in one corner of my pocket just big enough for a mouse to fit its nose through. He must know a spell I don't, because the severing charm would have cut too much.

I have to ask. (( Why cream? ))

(( So if he gets loose he'll be easy to find. ))

(( Wouldn't white work better? Or something neon and glowing? ))

(( I _cannot_ see myself in white and I don't want it that bloody obvious that this mouse is a bit special. Just in case. ))

Okay.

Whatever works, I guess. At least he covered him in fur — if this were Voldemort's animagus form I'd be willing to bet he'd look more like a naked mole-rat.

Dad turns and heads for the doors, turning off Dark Shield. "Come. We've wasted enough time already."

I follow, not needing to be told twice.

Danger and excitement — this could be fun! I just hope the Voldemort mouse doesn't wake up again and gnaw a hole through my pocket.

"Why choose me?" Harry asks, genuinely confused, "Cain says I was ultimately responsible for you being the way you are now, so if I died you would cease to exist in that form. Doesn't that worry you?"

"Yes, but you're Luck personified — I know you'll come out on top _somehow_. You always do. Quite annoying, really."

The doors brave the winds again, and Dad moves out into the courtyard.

"Stop!"

The word halts me in my tracks.

Dad begins to glow with a dark violet light.

Harry freezes at my side. "What's he doing?"

"Morphing." I answer without bothering to look at him.

The violet deepens, then explodes.

_Flash!_

A large dragon with a long, tapered snout, giant leathery wings, and graceful but powerful limbs fills the center of the square. Its body is covered entirely in smooth, shiny black scales with generous breaks between the spikes along the back for riding. Dad swivels his head around and regards us impatiently, his long, whiplike tail lashing up and down between two pillars.

(( Get on. )) Sinking to his belly, he folds one wing loosely to his side, creating a makeshift step.

I race out into the driving rain and, by example, show the others how to board using the hand-joint on the wing for leverage and slip-support while climbing up the folds in the skin.

Dad's scales are slick. Slicker all the more with water. Grabbing hold of each spike tightly, I climb up as far as I can to give Harry and friends plenty of space. I make the spot where the neck connects with the body my resting place, sitting solidly cross-legged between two spikes.

Harry is the first of the trio to approach, albeit reluctantly.

People flood out of the building to watch: spellbound, unbelieving, jealous, envious, awestruck and a hundred other adjectives. Predictable reactions; before the Phenomenals _no_ mage _anywhere_ could turn into a dragon. Seeing it for the first time must be quite jarring to people who used to think it impossible.

Snape!

Dad will be coming back here after he's dropped us off — now is my last chance to warn him.

Aiming my telepathy at him alone, I say (( Watch yourself. You're no longer bound by the Mark in the future and my father sees you as a rival. ))

There. I seriously doubt he would have treated my father like a bosom buddy anyway, but better safe than sorry.

(( I'm not going to bite you, though it _is _tempting. Hurry up — we don't have all year! )) Dad's telepathy is directed mostly at Harry, but he didn't bother cutting me out.

The skepticism on Harry's face melts into dogged determination. With a running start he leaps up and grabs the hand-joint, slipping a little but making a nice recovery. Once he's on the wing he propels himself upward in bounding steps and grabs a spike as I did, hoisting himself into a niche between two spikes. Holding on for dear life, he works his way to the 'seat' behind the 'seat' behind me, leaving a gap between us.

Hermione's next, and she makes it up to the space behind Harry with only a little more difficulty.

Ron's attempt is bungled. He charges just as the rest of us, but when he gets close enough he slows down too much and doesn't get the boost he needs for the leap; his fingers don't quite make it to Dad's dragon-wing hand.

"Eeah!" Falling backwards, he lands stumbling on his feet. Blazing red eyes lock onto him and he trembles like a newborn fawn, his mouth open in a comical expression of doubting fear.

"Come on Ron, you can do it!" Hermione yells above the storm and warring beasts, "You just need to get more of a start…"

Without warning the freckle-faced redhead levitates straight up into the air, to the side, and lands unceremoniously in the spot behind Hermione. An indignant yelp of surprise escapes his throat.

Looks like Dad got tired of waiting. A shimmer of green magic rushes over his body.

"What's _that_?" Harry asks, startled. I barely hear him.

(( A locking charm. )) I answer nonverbally, not wishing to compete with the wind and monsters to be heard, (( You don't want to fall off his back, do you? ))

"You act like you've done this before." An unearthly shriek rose up somewhere in the middle of that and Harry had to almost yell.

(( I have. Just hang on to the spike in front of you and enjoy the ride! ))

A strong blast of wind hits me dead-on, driving stinging rain against my face. I put up a hand and shield myself from the worst of it, blinking cold droplets of water out of my eyes.

Screaming everywhere. In the skies, on the ground. They're so close now. Definitely on Hogwarts grounds and almost on top of us.

"_Iiiieeeeeeoooh! Kiteeer! Kiteeer! Rrrraaawwwr! _"

I don't even want to think about what's making that. It sounds like a dying gryphon killing a wolf in a giant brass tube.

KaBOOM!

The ground buckles with the vibration. Hermione and several onlookers give sharp little cries of surprise.

This keeps getting worse and worse…I look up and see a whole swarm of wyvern-beasts and what look a helluva lot like four-winged panthers closing in on us.

Dad rears on his hind legs and lets loose with a magnificent stream of fire.

Then, with a few powerful wing-beats, we're airborne.


	9. Grief

**A/N: **_Just a little note to say that this story has a 4-chapter-long companion called "**Fighting With Dragons**" which I just finished revamping. =) It's all Draco and Bellatrix drama and takes place months before the birth of Cain. It's rated a soft M for mature themes and adult language, so you'll want to make sure your filters are on the right settings if you're interested. ;)_

_Also, many thanks to my readers! It gladdens me that you find this story enjoyable enough to follow. ;) _

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<br>**

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Up! Higher and higher!

Our departure is just in time: blue-furred cat-beasts with horns poking out of their heads, dog-sized creatures with two heads pulsating in writhing tentacles, shaggy monsters with crocodile-like jaws, and black-boned skeletal horses all ablaze with fire swamp the courtyard, eliciting a smorgasbord of spells, curses, and jinxes from our gathered spectators. The higher we get the more come into view — literally thousands of them, and almost as diverse as a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. The largest are bigger than dragons and on par with sauropod dinosaurs; the smallest are about the same size as Cornish pixies. Some have fur. Some are coated in slime, grime, scales, feathers, naked pink flesh, or any combination of these. The number of horns, heads, limbs, and other appendages varies drastically. Most have big jaws lined with row upon row of razor-sharp teeth and the claws to match. Those lacking claws or mouths have spear-horns, piercing hooves, beaks, and/or magic to make up for it.

Many seem to have magic, actually: a fair number are either on fire or surrounded by electricity, and several are demonstrating their ability to levitate, magic-leap, and fire elements or spells from eyes, mouths, tails, or paws.

Harry utters something I don't catch; I heighten my hearing and focus in on him in case he follows the thought up.

The biting wind and rain lash us all over, yet Dad's wings continue to beat steadily. The locking charm keeps us firmly in place.

Flying blackness!

The four-winged panthers jet away from Dad's fire and circle us like hungry wolves. "_Foes! Foes! Enemies of the Mistress! Feel our teeth! Feel our claws! DIE!_" they scream, though I am the only one who can understand them. I know from experience that everyone else hears only angry growling and hisses.

Their burning, pupiless eyes are even redder than Dad's. The white of their fangs flashing against the pits of their mouths is the only other color to be seen on their bodies.

Dad powers his way through them without slowing down in the slightest, sending more of the feathered felines scattering.

Undeterred, the panthers continue to flock around us snarling ferociously. Pumping their wings feverishly against the elements they fly over, beneath, and to the sides of us, hesitant to get too close.

The biggest one finds his courage and swoops in — right for me!

I reach for my wand —

"Stupefy!" Harry beats me on the draw. The red bolt hits the animal dead-on. Instead of dropping to the ground unconscious he merely flares all four wings while shaking his head and blinking a few times, stunned.

"Immobilus!" Hermione's spell almost renders him immobile; his wings continue to flap, but not nearly fast enough to keep him in the air. He spins down to the earth like a giant black pinwheel, the wind blowing him towards Hogwarts.

The other panthers don't seem to care, but they do mind their distance.

My wand is in my hand now and ready to go.

"Wow!" Harry marvels.

"Merlin's beard!" Ron exclaims, "Who would've ever thought Malfoy would get so powerful?"

About half a kilometer away Draco is hovering a couple hundred meters off the ground, held up by magic alone. His hands flash and glow luminously with the colors of the spells he's belting out faster than the fastest dueling champions. Even more impressive than the speed at which he is spellcasting is the speed at which he is teleporting: Draco's title as '_The World's Fastest Apparater_' — while technically a misnomer — is very well-earned; no one else even comes close, including the other Fen. As we watch he vanishes only to reappear instantly scores of meters away firing curses, lightning, and fireballs. Then he is gone again and in another spot, doing the same, defying gravity the whole time.

The wyvern-beasts can't keep up with him. Scores are killed. The lucky ones are dazed, cut, blinded, stunned, scorched, or otherwise wounded by his rapid-fire strikes. His magic dragon slices through the air like a knife, catching monsters and shredding them to pieces in its jaws and talons. Their attacks on it are in vain: magic feels no pain. It cannot be weakened by the physical. Elements do not affect it.

The wyvern-beasts are being slaughtered en masse — I look down and see hundreds dying or dead on the ground, being devoured by their ravenous land-based brethren.

Draco appears standing on the back of his dragon as it bites through the tail of an angry wyvern-beast. His hands blaze a blinding white. He is charging up for something…two white discs! One from each hand. I sharpen my vision and see that they are in the shape of spinning muggle sawblades. No more than a few centimeters in thickness but as wide around as redwood trunks, they rip through the air as fast as any other spell, homing in loosely on wyvern-beasts and cutting cleanly through any parts they touch. What is unique about them is they don't vanish after hitting something: they continue wheeling towards more targets.

I've never seen my grandfather use them before, but I've heard him talk about it. Along with his magical dragon summon, Star Scream, homing killing curses, and ability to turn invisible without the aid of an invisibility cloak for short periods of time, the sawblades are the strongest magic he possesses. He will not be able to keep both them and the dragon going at the same time for long, and he's going to have to steal some magic from something very soon if he wants to keep unleashing such devastating attacks and using his Fen abilities to their fullest.

"That's…amazing." Hermione is on the verge of being at a loss for words. I twist halfway around and see her watching Draco with envious mesmerized eyes through each wingbeat. One hand holds her wand, the other grips the spike in front of her tightly. Her hair is a mess of wet brown curls clinging to her head and face.

Harry and Ron are watching as well, though their attention is a little more divided on the panthers and ground beasts. Harry is remaining pretty calm, all things considered, but Ron looks sick.

"What's that?" Harry points to Draco's Dragon Mark, still glittering strongly in the sky and confusing the daylights out of a handful of wyvern-beasts trying to attack it.

(( Draco's Dragon Seal. )) I answer, hoping they will dismiss it as a vanity issue and not delve any further.

"_It's the catalyst!_" one of the flying panthers hisses, "_Leave him and kill the others! Rip! Bite! Mutilate! Let us rend and tear that we may lick the blood off our jowls!_"

"_Rip! Tear! Feast!_" the others chorus. They merge together into a single super flock and chase after us, the closest being only a dragon's length behind the tip of Dad's tail.

Suddenly the body beneath me buckles.

I pivot back to my original position just in time to see the great snakelike neck dipping down.

Wild rush of air!

Falling!

The locking charm holds me fast to Dad's body so it feels as though I am on a thrill-ride free-falling straight down.

Ron shrieks "We're going to diiiee!"

Faster and faster we plummet, the ground racing up to meet us in a dark green blur.

I have to fight to keep my eyes open. My hair blows straight back behind me, the roots pulling on my scalp.

Exhilarating!

Insane!

Directly below me Dad's head, a living arrow aimed straight at the ground.

"What are you doing?" Harry and Hermione yelp almost in unison.

My father doesn't respond. With a sudden jerk he flares his wings and pulls his head halfway back up.

Legions of monsters race to storm Hogwarts below. The ground is one big moving mass of them.

A black dragon hand shoots out into my view. I can't see from this angle, but it is likely the other is out as well. It glows a pure, electric red.

The wind tries to blow us asunder — Dad's wings beat it back so that we remain hovering, waiting, a hundred yards or so above ground.

"_Kill them!_" The panthers' screams are almost lost in the fury of the wind and monsters.

A lump rises in my throat.

Ten-thousand plus didn't seem like such a big number before I was faced with it: now I see how hopeless the situation really is. The army truly appears endless, stretching out in a thick band that has to be a kilometer wide over the horizon.

Granted the horizon has hills and trees, but this is not good for morale. Dad wasn't overreacting in the slightest when he summoned his every ally and instructed Dumbledore to do the same…god there are so many.

A massive jet of red erupts from Dad's taloned hand and it and a twin each crash into a cluster of a dozen or so beasts, vaporizing them on contact.

BOOM!

The earth ripples out like water in two giant shockwaves. Beasts everywhere are knocked flat, smashed, and buried under tons of moving mud and rock. Where the ripples collide the land thrusts up to form a new and uneven range of hills. The ground continues to shake even as the swells die out and vanish, leaving hundreds dead and wounded in their wake.

The cries of the wounded ones are earsplitting.

I realize I have left my hearing turned up and quickly return it to normal.

Dad opens his mouth and shoots thick tendrils of snaking lightning into the herd of survivors. Lightning that jumps from target to target for a wide radius, electrifying them all.

More bellows of pain.

Surprisingly, few of the beasts die of it. When the lightning lets up multitudes of angry faces turn to the sky.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Harry!

The panthers have caught up to us — the closest one misses Harry by a measure of centimeters and falls past us, moving in a greatly-delayed manner. He probably won't be able to move his wings fast enough to have much control over where he's going, just like the panther that was struck with Immobilus earlier.

"Avifores!" Hermione creates a flock of conjured birds which stream directly into the panthers' faces. "Oppugno!"

The birds begin attacking the panthers, raking and ripping at their eyes and noses with their sharp claws and beaks. Eagles, falcons, ravens, swallows, swans, budgerigars — no bird is too big or too small, they all give 'em hell. And there is something insanely hilarious about watching a tiny budgerigar dive-bomb a panther's nose, latching on to the nostrils with its feet while it pecks it bloody.

I aim my wand and am about to fire a Depulso into the distracted feline flock when Dad pulls up violently.

"Immoooobilus!" Ron calls, voice climbing as he overstresses the second syllable, and it is doubtful the spell actually leaves his wand.

Dad bounces up and down wildly like the bumps on the back of the Loch Ness Monster; I can't keep anything in focus for more than a fraction of a second at a time. The air behind us breaks with the growls and spits of frustrated, wounded panthers. Flashes of light whiz up and around us, piercing the purple sky.

Enemy spells. Oh boy.

(( Hold on to your wands! )) Dad warns. He flips into a barrel-roll and plummets back towards the earth, washing the army below in a spray of frosty blue coldfire which burns with coldness the way normal fire burns with heat and makes the same soft, musical tinkling sound as a breeze moving through icicles.

Some beasts manage to get a shield up in enough time, but most are frozen over solid with a layer of fine white frost. As with fire, the severity of their condition depends on how much exposure to the flame they received and whether or not they have legendary regenerative powers and/or a natural immunity to the element. A brief brush with coldfire will frostbite the areas it touches; a strong enough blast will freeze a living organism to its core, killing it instantly.

I think ice is my element — I love coldfire. Not only is it beautiful and deadly, it beautifies those it kills.

Burns are ugly and fire leaves the sickening smell of charred flesh lingering in the air.

"Is that ice?" Harry is having a slow day, apparently.

"Sure looks like!" Hermione's voice is shocked with excitement, "This is incredible!"

(( They have an ice weakness, )) Dad broadcasts publicly, (( Use it to your advantage. ))

(( Cutting hexes work on the things that look like furless pink bears with vulture-heads and tentacles. )) Draco adds helpfully, (( But make sure you cut their tentacles off first or they'll just use them to heal. The crocodile-bulls have magic in their mouths, the things that look like shriveled green goblins store it in their hands. Watch out for their electrical pulses, by the way. And _really_ watch out for the blue-furred lions with horns — they'll bite on to your face and suck the magic and life right out of you. ))

(( They power-drain? ))

(( Yes. They use the magic to generate fireballs, lightning, and protective shields as far as I've seen. Physical attacks seem to work best on them, so if anyone out there is good at transfiguration, conjuring, or has a strong animagus form, now is the time! ))

A strong animagus form. Those are quite rare in nonFen — the strongest I've personally seen is wolf. Dad once had a bear animagus Death Eater, but Draco Star Screamed her into insanity which lead to her eventual death at the hands of Dark Aurors a couple of months later. It is unlikely that any of the Hogwarts lot have a form strong enough to be a match for beasts the size of lions. They're going to have to rely heavily on transfiguration and conjuring.

"_Rrraaaawwrr!_" The death-cry of a panther that got too close to a dragon's jaws and snapped up in its teeth.

Dad shakes it violently for good measure, garnishing the wind with droplets of blood and feathers before spitting it out. The matted, lifeless carcass drops like a stone.

Unhindered by the incident, Dad gains altitude and flies high over the tallest treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

"Immobilus!"

"Immobilus!"

"Impedimenta!"

Hermione, Ron, and Harry continue to assault the panthers who managed to thwart the flock.

I spin around and lash out at the one nearest to me with a silent Immobilus.

The now super-slow feline is helpless to save itself from the strong winds and shares the fate of the others.

I fire a Stupefy at a more distant panther, briefly enhancing my vision to aim.

My aim is true, but the panther escapes in plenty of time by evading. My next shot misses as well.

Damn.

I'm going to _have_ to learn to home some of my spells. The sooner the better.

Quite suddenly, the remaining hundred or so panthers pull back and begin circling wildly, an enormous black tornado of wings and bodies. "_He's here! He's here!_" they scream joyously, "_Grief will take care of them!_"

(( The panthers are screaming about something called "Grief" arriving and taking care of us. He's here right now, according to them. )) I inform my father.

Dad swears telepathically. (( I think I see him! ))

I whip back so that I am again facing forward and search the sky for anything I haven't already seen.

Wyvern-beasts avoiding us in their quest for Hogwarts. A pair of curious thestrals wheeling a kilometer off. Legions of dementors streaming after the wyvern-beasts.

Then I see it: a monstrous winged shape cloaked with black mist emerging from the bottom of a thick, deep-violet cloud.

The first thing that strikes me is just how massive the thing is — about twice the size of Dad's dragon morph, which is the largest dragon in existence even counting Draco's dragon.

In other words, it is almost like seeing the Great Sphinx of Giza flying at us.

The mane and tail are horselike and either on fire or made of fire. Unsettling, featureless yellow eyes burn like twin beacons through the gloom. Here and there part of a taloned foot, leathery wings, horns, and hooves flash in and out of view. The rest of the creature is shrouded and hidden by the strange black mist whipping about it like the wind fronts of a hurricane.

"_Ggrrraaaaawheert! Mmmrrraaahhh!_" Grief flies straight at us, and against the million other chaotic background noises I hear the flapping of heavy, _very_ powerfully-built wings.

Dad rises to the challenge and charges him dead-on, fighting the wind every centimeter of the way.

"What are you doing?" Ron yells in a panic, "Are you crazy?"

"That thing is twice your size!" Harry yells equally as loudly, as if anyone needed _that_ pointed out.

Hermione says something in a normal volume of voice that I don't catch.

(( Silence! I know what I'm doing — just be ready to back me up. )) There is a disturbing amount of fear in Dad's tone.

Well, for him anyway.

The others might not have caught it.

But I did.

I prepare my wand. Try to think of the spells and curses which have the highest probability of being Fen-strength and effective. It's frightening, but Dad's right: better to kill this thing now than give it a shot at Hogwarts, which will be much more helpless before it.

"You're bloody kidding me!" All is not well in Ronland.

What a coward.

So close!

I feel a rush of adrenalin and struggle to pinpoint a weak spot….

Dad's jaws spring open and a strong spout of coldfire erupts from his mouth.

A stream of fire bursts from somewhere within the mist to meet it, and the two flames war against one another.

"Sectumsempra!" I fire Snape's homemade slashing curse into the mist — blindly. Grief displays no signs of pain, and I have no way of knowing how effective it was.

To be on the safe side, I cast the flame freezing charm on myself. Urge the others to do the same.

A few silent spells flit past me to vanish in the monster's mist.

"Looks like the extinguishing charm doesn't work! Is its hair made of Fiend Fire?" Hermione frets.

Dad halts his flame and falls into a swandive.

The Voldemort mouse!

I check my pocket with a light tap.

Still there.

Still sleeping, judging by his lack of reaction.

Good, good.

I shut my eyes against the stinging wind; I can barely breathe! I swear, one of these days I'm going to invent a charm to shield the user's face from winds in excess of 320 kph. That way, should anyone be crazy enough to want to fly at these speeds, they won't suffocate attempting to do so.

Dad swoops up with the breathtaking grace of a bird of prey pulling out of a stoop, using momentum to propel him directly towards Grief's belly, assuming he has one. Parting his jaws he fires a rapid flurry of red and black curses.

Not sure what the black ones are, but I know the red ones are Crucioes. Crucio is the strongest magic he can manage while in morph — try as he may he can't use Crucioburn, Blackburn, or Avada Kedavra. I'm not sure why. No one is. Could be that they're just too powerful and hard enough to cast in human form, which actually has some degree of logic to it considering the other Fen have a devil of a time doing non-elementals while in morph and can't even Cruciate.

The great mist beast falters…then drops!

"_Grrraaaawwrr._" The cry is muffled and subdued.

Dad moves out of its path, blasting it the whole time with a shower of curses. (( Hah! Guess he wasn't so tough after all! )) he gloats.

I wish I was convinced. _It's too early to celebrate._ A cold voice from the back of my mind warns me.

Dad's taloned hand shoots out and begins to glow a deep red. A whirling ball of magic begins to emerge, growing larger and larger.

Grief falls to our level — and lunges at us!

Fast!

Too fast!

Sickle-claws rip deep into Dad's shoulders, barely missing me, slicing through mythril-like armor as though it were cardboard. Teeth the size of big swords pierce the serpentine neck…

If I don't act now, my father is dead. Even he can't survive a broken neck.

The next second is a blur: I point my wand at the place the teeth are coming from. And attempt a curse I've tried dozens of times before and never been able to successfully cast. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

I mean it with all my heart and soul. Command every fiber of my being to make it as strong as I possibly can.

And it works!

For the first time ever, it _works_!

The blinding streak of green light hits its target truly.

"IIIEEEEEEEEE!" Grief's screech of pain is above and beyond deafening; it seems my eardrums shatter. He rockets backwards a hundred yards as though punched by the fist of Zeus, tearing out bloody chunks of dragon in his talons.

The shamrock aura appears all over Dad's body, halting the flow of blood from his wounds almost instantly and working super fast to heal them.

(( You alright? )) I ask, concerned.

Dad spreads his wings to their fullest and dips into a gentle glide, using the wind current to veer sharply away from Grief.

(( No, but I'll live. )) He sounds pained. Then, in a stronger voice, he says (( I'm going back in. Harry! Hermione! Ron! Follow Cain's example and hit it with Avada Kedavra — if one hurt it that much more might kill it. I can't fire killing curses in this form, but I still have a few tricks to play. ))

"_Killing curses_?" Hermione echoes in an octave of disbelief.

(( Yes! This thing isn't a human or innocent animal, it's a _monster_. We have to stop it HERE and NOW or the death toll is going to be staggering. Think about _that_ if you're having trouble casting the curse. ))

"How about Draco?" Harry shouts, "Can't he help?"

(( No. He's already too drained to be of much use and desperately needed where he's at. Get ready! ))

Dad flips back around and charges Grief head-on again. His gashes and puncture wounds are sealed, and within the next two minutes, I know, he will have regenerated the lost tissue and made a complete recovery.

Speaking of recovery, Grief has recovered from the nasty little shock that, had he been any earthly creature, would have left him dead. He rushes to meet us, invisible but for the fire, eyes, and glimpses of wings and feet.

I lock my eyes on him. _Time to die. _I think venomously.

I aim for the space between his eyes…

Black shockwaves of magic racing at us!

Dad counters with a pair of special mobile Protegos expelled from each hand and climbs up higher into the air.

Parts of the shockwaves hit the barriers and bounce off, returning to Grief.

Dad seizes the moment where his nemesis is temporarily distracted to open his jaws and cut loose with an oval of invisible magic which distorts the air and rain around it as though it were comprised of liquid glass.

The flying behemoth ejects several more pulses of black shockwave from his body to counter the incoming hostile magic.

Fails to notice the new spell. Is struck in the face with something that explodes like a bomb into a hurricane-force gale probably only otherwise experienced on the Jovian worlds.

Such a powerful new wind ripping through the already-turbulent atmosphere produces a massive sonic _BOOM! _I feel the vibrations from it, but I don't actually hear it. Thank Slytherin's ghost my father remembered to throw up the sound-muffling charm around us in time, or we would all be deaf and bleeding from the ears.

Grief is like a spell let fly from a wand, hurtling head-over-feet nearly as fast as the wind that torments him, his concealing black mist utterly blown away.

"What was _that_? )) Harry and I ask in almost perfect unison.

(( A mix of Disillusion and the strongest wind element I could muster. )) Dad says with a good measure of pride.

The shamrock aura is gone from him. Battling the storm, he straightens himself to be horizontal with all four limbs tucked closely to his body and his neck and tail held out stiffly. Raising his wings halfway, he is suddenly aglow with a sparkling blue light.

_Whoosh!_

It is like being in a dive all over again! Only this time we are flying, not falling. The treetops and glades below become a solid muddy-green haze; Grief races up like a stone wall in Quidditch.

(( _Finish him! _)) Dad barks hatefully.

I am only too eager. (( Gladly. ))

Now that Grief's mist is gone I see that he isn't quite as big as I thought — closer to one-and-a-half of Dad's dragon morphs, rather than two. If it weren't for the creatures I'd laid eyes on earlier I would say he is unlike anything I had ever seen or heard about in all my fourteen years of life.

His short, powerful jaws are like those of a dragon, leading into a head that sports two tapering horns that stick straight out to the sides like those of an Auroch bull. Two more horns, these spiraled and vertical, jut out of the top of the skull surrounded by the flaming sea of mane. The neck looks like it came straight off a gargantuan horse: the tail likewise in shape. The leathery black dragon wings each have a huge lance instead of claws or hands — lances that end in arrowhead hooks. He has a total of six legs: two pairs in the usual places and a pair just beneath the front. The first four are very dragon-like but tipped with claws that would put any dragon to shame. The back are those of an ox and end in sharp cloven hooves. In stockiness and shape, the body is intermediate between dragon, ox, and horse. Except for the wings and the last third of the dragon feet, the whole creature is coated in gorgeous red-velvet fur. Fur I wish my cat Brimstone could have.

When we've approached to within thirty meters, Dad slows back to normal speed and moves his wings again.

Grief tenses and looks ready to strike.

I don't give him the chance. "Avada Kedavra!"

My curse streaks out —

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry echoes.

My green death slams into the monster and is followed instantly by another.

"IIIIIEEEE —"

"Avada Kedavra!" Again I attempt to slay the cretin.

Harry remains silent this time.

Hermione and Ron reprise their roles of inactivity; this is a bloody spectator-sport, they think.

Grief's death-shriek literally dies in his throat. One Fen-strength killing-curse was survivable, but a repeat with two more and an extra normal one thrown in is too much. All the light leaves his eyes. He drops to the ground like a couple of tons of bricks; trees snap and crack like kindling under his immense weight.

"We got him!" Hermione doesn't really sound as happy as she should, but rather relieved.

Dad skips the celebrations and coasts right into another super-speed glide.

By now I am as wet as if I'd jumped into a swimming pool, and chilled almost to the bone. All the rushing cold air doesn't help; I quickly cast the instant-drying charm on myself with a few abrupt movements of my wand. Thankfully I am familiar enough with the hot air charm not to have to go through the complicated wand motions at such a high speed — I simply face my left palm towards me and hold it out as far as I comfortably can, mentally commanding the desired effect.

Ah. The current of warm air feels good. I close my eyes and bask in it.

At our current rate we cover the remainder of the distance inside five minutes. I extinguish my hot air charm as Dad slows to a stop over the overgrowth he described and dips gently to the ground, spraying fire over an area of dense foliage to clear a spot for our landing.

And land we do, in a flutter of wings.

The locking charm releases and our willing dragon lays flat on the ground with his wings sprawled, forming two exit-slides. (( Hurry off. If I have to remove you you won't like it. ))

I watch as Harry, Ron, and Hermione all scramble for the wings.

Too slowly.

I grow impatient. Consider morphing a bird and flying down. Remember I still have the Voldemort mouse in my pocket and scratch the idea.

Ron and Hermione, being closest to the wings, are the first off. Fortunately they each take a different one, speeding things up a bit.

Harry and I are next, and I waste no time in racing down.

This turns out to be a mistake — in my haste I trip over one of the wing-fingers and fall face-first in a diving slide. I launch my hands out in front of me. Rich dirt, sharp rocks, and charred plant-matter greet my palms.

Ouch.

I regain my footing quickly, hoping no-one saw.

The intoxicating fragrance of tropical rain-fresh plants and a dozen different species of flowers reaches my nose, masked only weakly by the burnt smell. Here the air is gentle and the rain falls in a light, drizzling mist. Strange, but it is also much warmer. A comfortable seventy-degrees Fahrenheit, if I had to guess.

Where are we, Hawaii?

The trio clump together predictably, and my father resumes his true shape in the same glowing flash of deep violet he lost it in. His hair is a bit tussled, but other than that he appears exactly as he was before the transformation. However, his eyes have lost some of their luster, and I know he is feeling the strain from all the stress he's been under, all the powerful magic he's had to use, the battle with Grief, and — possibly — lack of sleep. He gives his wand a little twitch and the burnt vegetation beneath us vanishes.

"Alright," he says wearily, "Here you are. I don't have any clue as to what's in there, but it will probably be extremely dangerous. The only advice I can give you is this: act like everything's a trap, trust no-one but yourselves, and above all, _stay together_." He holds out his hand. "Cain. Mouse."

I point my wand at the top seam of my pocket and hit it with Diffindo. I reach down until I feel fur and scoop the little animal out.

Sound asleep.

Perfect.

I walk over and hand him to my father, who carefully wraps his fingers around him.

"What are you going to do with him?" Ron wonders.

"Hide him somewhere safe and secure. What happens to him happens to me."

"Doesn't that make you wonder, though?" Hermione says thoughtfully, "I mean, Genesis resurrected you the way you are now, so why would your past-self getting hurt hurt you? And will his death _really_ kill you if you're supposed to die anyway?"

Dad frowns and shakes his head, frustrated and flummoxed. "I don't know. But you saw what happened to my past-self and I in Hogwarts — I'm not taking any chances."

"Fair enough." Harry says.

"Wow," a small smile blossoms onto Hermione's face, "Just thinking about the future…it sounds so fascinating. Gods, ambrosia, super-powered wizards…so different from what we're used to."

"No kidding." I say, reluctant to step away from Dad.

As optimistic as I want to be, and as much faith as I have in my father and my own abilities, I know, deep down, realistically, this could be the last time either of us sees the other.

My heart sinks. The bittersweet sorrow I experienced parting with my grandfather returns with a force I can barely stand.

I choke it back.

Don't let them see.

But inside I'm sick with worry. Tainted by fear.

Dad gives me a shallow, strained smile. "Take care Son. Remember what I taught you." He pauses a moment, as though to say more.

I want to tell him to stay safe, to be careful, but anything along those lines will only sound like sentimental weakness to him, and he wouldn't like that.

Instead "Give them hell." reaches my lips.

Dad hardens. "Oh believe me," he growls in a dangerously low voice, backing up a few paces so as not to singe me with his heat waves, "I _will_."

Then he disappears in a blaze of hot green flames, leaving me alone with three people he'd always encouraged me to hate.


End file.
